can anyone please recommend me some jaw-dropping, life-changing, funny, and creative stories, please? like it can be fanfiction or original stories. fanfictions are strictly x reader, though i'm sorry…it's rough around here trying to find good stories because i have literally run ao3, quotev and even wattpad dry.
for original stories, fantasy would be good. idc, i just need a good story to binge. thank you huhu...
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❤︎ SYNOPSIS: nanako and mimiko have a lonely papa—luckily for him, they’re master matchmakers. (alternatively, kids are smarter than we think.)
❤︎ CONTENT: f!reader, single dad!suguru, preschool teacher!reader, both are mid 20s-early 30s, and both are lonely asf, egregious usage of ‘y/n’ and this is your only warning, light angst, but mainly fluff, nanako and mimiko are very active participants, alcohol, first dates … 18+, minors and ageless blogs DNI.
❤︎ XOXO, PUMA: um. how does one interact with children.
♫ NOW PLAYING: back in love, suki waterhouse.
read on ao3 | 6.2k words | masterlist.
“MISS Y/N!” Nanako hollers. She always comes screaming into class, loud enough to make you to wince, loud enough to make you to debate whether it’s appropriate to tell a child that’s not yours to shut up. Mimiko trails right behind, clutching Mr. Bun tight to her chest. “Marry my Papa!”
And you, who was prepared to welcome your favorite girls with open arms—yes, teachers aren’t supposed to have favorites, but they do—stutter and falter. Nanako comes crashing into your knee, and somehow, knocks wind out of you in the process.
“Nanako,” Mr. Getō hisses from the entrance. He’s always the first parent here, work, you assume. Never too early, but early enough that you’re the only two adults in the room, early enough to barely miss the morning rush. You don’t mind the extra company, even if Nanako is a whirlwind and a half. And, as much as she tries to hide it, her twin sister isn’t much better. Just…quieter.
Mr. Getō turns to you with a polite smile, because that’s all he’s ever been—polite, kind, courteous. A bit distant. Not that you know many parents beyond drop off and pick up. If anything, you understand most of them through their kids. What Suguru’s daughters say about him, though, is beyond you.
“I’m sorry about her,” he apologizes, like his girls haven’t been in your class all year. Polite. You’d be lying if you didn’t say Mr. Getō was one of the more attractive parents, and unfortunately, all the single moms agree. The single moms, in their LuluLemons and Athleta and reusable Starbucks cups. You look down at your multicolored patchwork apron, the white dress underneath stained with every crayon and marker in your classroom. Yeah, definitely not his type.
Mr. Getō is clean—he’s made of sharp edges and hard lines, and you’re made of circles and vomiting rainbows. He’d definitely prefer someone clean and sharp like him. A business woman, maybe. With a really killer bob.
“It’s okay,” you wave it off before kneeling to give Nanako a proper hug. Lightly, Mimiko weasels her way in. “Did you two bring a lunch, today?
The question is superfluous—of course, they did. Mimiko is allergic to most things, and it’s a much safer play to simply bring food from home. But, if you forget to remind them immediately, they’ll forget to give it to you, and you’ll forget to remind them once the chaos of class starts. It’s an endless cycle of forgetting.
Nanako nods vehemently, digging into her themed backpack for two modern bento boxes, and hands them over with chubby fingers. “Yep! Papa made it!”
You smile and nod, getting to your feet to refrigerate them. With knees popping and aching on your way up, you wonder how long you’ll have until you feel truly, properly old. Mr. Getō lingers in the doorway, pays a swooning mother no mind as she unleashes her feral child in the room, and you find an excuse for small talk, because you can.
“What’d you make them?” You’re digging into the mini-fridge now, the one by the front door, and place their lunch boxes in the spot you always put them. Lower level, to the right. Mr. Getō shrugs in his suit like he doesn’t have somewhere to be.
“Just leftovers,” he says. You stand to your feet, brushing the apron off. “Tako sausage and omurice.”
“Awh, I love tako sausage,” you gush, and eye the room as it slowly begins to fill. Single mothers whisper behind your back. You know, becase your hackles raise. “I don’t know why, but sausage always tastes better squid-ified.”
Mr. Getō lifts an eyebrow. “…Squid-ified.”
“Yeah,” you nod away the stark reminder of exactly why you’re not this man’s type. He seems like such a no nonsense guy, and here you are, yapping.
“Well. If I knew that, I would’ve brought you some,” he offers with a kind smile, and your knees buckle. Just a little.
“Bah,” you wave the platitude away. “I’m an adult. If I really want tako sausage that bad, I can make it.”
“Do you?”
“Do I what.”
“Make it.”
“Oh! No.” You snort, suppress a giggle, and breathe. “I’m lazy.”
Crossing his arms, Mr. Getō rests a shoulder against the door frame. “Says the woman taking care of twenty gremlins on a daily basis.”
“Hey, they may be gremlins, but they’re my gremlins,” you say, eyes scanning the room. Yūji Itadori gnaws on a jumbo block. You should probably take it from him before he hurts himself. Thankfully (unthankfully) Mr. Getō checks his watch, and realizes—
“Shit, I’m going to be late. I will, um, see you at pick up,” he pushes away from the wall, smile never failing. Class is going to begin soon, anyways. Before you can respond, though, he perks up with an afterthought. “Oh, and—if Nanako says anything else, please disregard it. It’s not…she has a fixation, right now.”
You don’t even know what that’s supposed to mean.
“Um…okay?”
“Okay,” Mr. Getō exhales, wavering by the door for one more second. “See you at five?”
“Sounds good,” you smile, and avoid thinking about how it sounds like a promise. Lock the fuck in. You’re no better than any of the mothers that swoon under the smooth of his voice. And, you hate yourself for it, every single time.
Once Mr. Getō leaves, so do the rest of the parents—the mothers, lingering, hoping that he might give them a sliver of his day. Fools, you think, because they won’t get anything if it doesn’t concern Nanako or Mimiko.
You walk to the front of the room, taking Yūji’s block away from him on the way. Luckily, he’s not a crier.
“Okay, everyone! Quiet Coyote!”
“Papa’s crying again.”
“I know.”
“He’s lonely.”
“I know.”
Suguru Getō is such a good dad.
While this something you know, it doesn’t make your heart swell any less.
“See! He likes you, lots!” Nanako holds up the sticky note plastered to the interior of her lunch. You crouch to read, instead of taking the note and pulling it to your face.
have a good day at school! i love you both so much. please don’t give ms. y/n a hard time. (nanako)
And, while there’s no proof that ‘he likes you lots,’ you appreciate Nanako’s match making sentiment nonetheless. Mimiko eats quietly next to her. Eyeing the tako sausage in their bento boxes, your mouth waters. Just a little bit.
But, you brought a sandwich. God, adult food is so boring.
“Yes, your Dad is a very nice man,” you smile, and ruffle ginger hair. Nanako beams.
“Exactly! So you’ll marry him?”
“No, Nanako.”
Nanako whines at that, and even Mimiko seems a little disappointed. “What? Why not?”
You suppress a groan. How do you explain without alluding to adult concepts that run right over children’s heads.
“Because, that’s not how relationships work, Sweetie,” you sigh, and adjust your legs so your knees hurt less. “Both people need to be on board. It’s a partnership.”
Nanako frowns. “Pardnership?”
You hum and nod. “Yes. Like the buddy system—marriage is one big buddy system.”
“But,” her bottom lip warbles, and shit, fuck, “Papa wants a buddy.”
“And, he’ll get one,” you know he will, it just won’t be you. And, you’re fine with that, you barely know the man—he’s just nice to look at, and takes very good care of the only two angels on Earth. “But, he has to choose. You can’t choose for him.”
“But—”
“No buts, Nanako,” because, you really can’t have this conversation for much longer. “Eat your food before it gets cold, okay? Your Papa will find a buddy, soon.”
“But,” Nanako begins again, because she’s stubborn, and has never been a good listener unless she wants to be. “But, you’d be a good buddy—I want you to be his buddy.”
You sigh. Swallow. Pat Nanako on the head in hopes it’ll placate whatever is going through her little mind at the moment.
“Eat your food, Nanako.”
“Papa, why don’t we have a Mommy, yet?”
“Girls—you’re four years old. Papa need a little more time than that.”
“Why?”
“…Because.”
“That’s a bad reason!”
You’re a little lonely. You can admit that, at least.
It’s not easy—after wrangling 20 five year olds all day—to have the energy for much else but recuperation. You’ve gone on a few dates, during the summer when class is no longer an something to worry about. You make as much time as you can for friends, on the weekends, maybe once or twice a month, when you don’t have a laundry list of errands to run because you waited the whole week to do them. That doesn’t make your apartment feel any less empty, though.
Heating up the other half of your sandwich, you try to remember the last time you went on a second date. Your boyfriend from college, maybe? You both lived on opposite sides of the country, and it wasn’t long after graduation before everything fell apart. Most parents you meet are surprised that you don’t have kids of your own by now, but that’s not the case—the issue is that you have twenty of them, from eight to three.
(To five, if you count the after school program.)
The microwave beeps, and you take the sandwich out. It’s cold in the middle, you should’ve flipped it open, but you’re too tired to care. That’s been a reoccurring thing, lately—being tired. Being cold.
“But, you’d be a good buddy!”
Yeah. You wouldn’t mind a buddy, either, Nanako.
“…What are you two doing?”
“Nothing, Papa!”
“Girls—thank you. Now, go to bed. I won’t ask again.”
“Okay, goodnight!”
Click.
“There’s an h in spaghetti, Nanako—”
Now. As stated, Mimiko is just as bad as her sister. Possibly worse—at least, Nanako is easy to say no to.
“My Papa is sad—and you can make him happy.”
Yeah. That’s what she starts with. What the fuck.
She holds out a homemade card with two hands, thumb and index pinching both sides until it wrinkles. From what you can see, there’s a pink glittering heart on the cover, with the names Miss Y/N and Papa above in crayon and stilted handwriting. This is a form of guilt tripping you’re severely unfamiliar with.
You take the card—because fuck, are you supposed to just make her stand there?—and open it because you can. Curiosity killed the cat.
THEESE WEKEND
PAPAS HOWSS FOR SPAHGETI
You snort. It takes you way too long to understand ‘howss’ is house.
“Mimiko,” you sigh, because, out of the two sisters, “you know I can’t. Your Papa has to choose his buddy, remember?”
She lets out an exhale, curling a lip of frustration, and wow, Mimiko, the fuck. “Yes, but—he’s not choosing one.”
“And, that’s okay,” you smile, pocketing the card before kneeling to her level. This is totally going on your fridge, your feelings surrounding the situation be damned. “Maybe, he doesn’t want a buddy right now.”
“Then—Then, he doesn’t get to cry about it!” She stomps a foot, and you want to say who’s crying about what, but keep it to yourself. “He won’t even see Uncle Gojō anymore. Just—come this weekend. Please.”
You sigh. You won’t, but, “I’ll think about it, Mimiko.”
“Did you do it?”
“Yes.”
“Do you think—”
“Yes.”
“Did you know your daughters invited me to your house, this weekend?”
“I did not,” Mr. Getō huffs with levity, and you join him in watching the girls climb the monkey bars. It’s a few hours since school ended, and the afterschool program is in full effect. Luckily (unluckily), you’re in charge of that, too. It’s not like you have anything better to do.
You pull the card out from your apron, and wave the cover design in his face before opening it, and trying your best to stay true to the spelling. “Theese wekend…papa’s howss…for spahgeti.”
“Wow.” Mr. Getō runs a hand over his lower face, chucking before he asks, “May I see that?”
Gladly, you hand it over.
“This is what they were doing last night,” he realizes aloud. “I was wondering why there was glitter all over the floor.”
“Ah yes, she’s elusive,” you nod solemnly, remembering how many times that godforsaken powder followed you out the class and into the home. Mr. Getō lifts an eyebrow. “Glitter, I mean.”
He snorts, nods, and passes the card back like he knew you wanted to keep it. The twins finally notice their Dad waiting, and come bounding over, covered in a level of sweat and grime that only a child could tolerate.
It’s immediate—the way Mr. Getō lights up.
He kneels down with open arms, each girl taking one, squeezing and pulling with no care for his pristine black suit. He doesn’t seem to care, either, as he cradles both of their heads and leaves twin kisses in his wake.
“How was school?”
“It was great! Did you know bears sleep for so long?!”
“Miss Y/N is coming to our house this weekend.”
You gawk, and look at Mimiko with absolute betrayal, because that’s not what you said. “I said, I’d think about it!”
Mr. Getō looks at you over his daughters head with a grin in his eyes.
“Is she, now?”
“Yep, I invited he—”
“We invited her!” Nanako adds loudly, lifting a hand in the air like she’s still in class. “But Mimiko delivered the letter because no one can say no to her!”
You knew it. You knew it, that wretch.
Mr. Getō laughs and stands, patting his daughters on the head on the way. You sigh but keep a good natured smile, knowing you will be screaming about this into a pillow later.
“You two are scary,” he says with a smile, then redirects it to you, and you’re…
“Sorry, about that,” you breathe, because this is embarrassing. Beyond, actually, because it’s like his girls have a radar for your exact type—their dad.
“No, I should be the one apologizing,” Mr. Getō steps forward. Mimiko forces a conversation out of Nanako, a sidebar, away enough to give you two privacy. Both of their eyes drift, though. “I told you—they have a fixation. They’ll get over it.”
“Oh no, it’s okay,” you wave his words away with both hands. “I get it. Plus, it’s endearing, when it’s not…”
“Embarrassing.”
“Yeah,” your fingers curl into the bottom of your apron. “But um, you should, like, totally put yourself out there more—not that, um, only if you want, but y’know, you could have anyone! So, uh, go for it!”
Mr. Getō snorts, and the sunset dances in his eyes and turns them molten. He’s staring at you too much. You should probably put the anxiously supportive thumbs up away. “And, that was supposed to be…encouraging.”
You clear your throat. “Yeah, it was an attempt. I—”
“What’s your answer?”
What.
“What?”
“Or,” Mr. Getō tilts his head, edits the sentence. “What would be your answer. If I, um, asked you. For…spahgeti.”
You snort at the pronunciation, too focused on the way he smells to notice the fact that Mimiko and Nanako’s conversation has come to a lull. Now, they’re watching in rapt attention.
“Uh, sure—yes,” you blink, pinch your arm just to make sure this isn’t a dream, and—nope. It’s still Thursday. You’re still at school. Covered in washable paint. “Yes, I would, um, I like spahgeti.”
He laughs a little, and you scrunch away a smile. You want to hear that, again.
“Six on Saturday?”
“Yeah,” you nod, you keep nodding, you need to stop nodding. “Yeah, sounds great.”
“No, you cannot cook the spaghetti yourselves.”
“But—”
“Absolutely not—Mimiko, how’d you learn how to turn on the stove?!”
“…Watching you.”
Maybe, you shouldn’t be going to a random man’s house. But, that random man is Mr. Getō, and he has daughters—so it’s not like he’s going to murder you, right?
Though, you’re more worried about accidentally murdering yourself on the way. You don’t notice the bright orange hand until after you’re honked at, a third of the way through the crosswalk.
“Watch where you’re going!”
Well. Fuck you, too.
The bottle of wine feels weird in your hands—too heavy and too cold, and the closer you get to your destination, the closer you get to the expensive side of town, the lump in your throat swells to a softball. You get comfortable with regret when you knock on his door thrice, hurting your knuckles in the process.
Christ, Mr. Getō lives here?
It doesn’t take long for him to open the door…ostensibly, not in a suit.
It’s strange seeing him outside of school. The issue is, outside of school, you dress the same. Apparently, Mr. Getō doesn’t wear suits all day, in the comfort of his own home, and that’s…weird.
(Not that you thought he would—but also, he totally seems like the type of guy who would.)
“Ah, hello! Thank you for coming.”
Today, he dons jeans and a button down shirt, both oversized enough to be comfortable, but nice enough to be…nice. His hair isn’t as neat as it typically is, but half-up nonetheless, with a stray hair working its way out the hair tie. There’s a streak of green marker on his chin, and you giggle at it, gesturing to your own.
“You’ve got…um…”
Mr. Getō slams a hand over his chin with a groan. “Marker?”
He steps out of the doorway to let you in, and you take the opportunity with a smile. “Looks like it—”
“Miss Y/N!”
Nanako and Mimiko come screaming down the hall and around the corner. You take them to the chest—well, the waist—as Mr. Getō disappears to, presumably, wash the green off his face.
“You came!” Nanako beams. You give her a small smile, because the little girl has no idea what you went through, internally, to drag yourself out of your apartment this evening.
“I did,” you nod, and give a very happy Mimiko a soft glare. She doesn’t even waver. They both guide you to a pleasantly placed table in the dining room, decorated with the works—roses and candles and actual porcelain plates. You don’t even think you own actual porcelain plates. Certainly not due to your own volition. The lighting is warm, and cozy, and could easily put you to sleep.
They sit you at the head, fussing over your hair, your outfit, and apparently, the way you sit.
“Papa has been working all day,” Mimiko says as Nanako tries to push your chair in, but can’t, because she’s five and you’re four times her size. “He wouldn’t let us help. Be nice to him.”
That or else hangs heavy in the air, and you gulp. This isn’t intimidating at all.
Before you start to regret your decision for the third time, Mr. Getō comes out of the kitchen while patting his hands dry with a reusable towel. Immediately, the girls scatter—sprinting down a seemingly endless hallway, and duck into the third room on the left. The door slams shut. Then, a series of giggles.
“…I’ve never seen them move so quickly,” Mr. Getō mutters, and you laugh quietly in agreement.
But, now, without Nanako or Mimiko to fill the void with insanity, you don’t know what to say. Silence lulls, and it’s loud.
“Me neither.”
This…is awkward.
Mr. Getō seems to feel it too, because immediately, he gets the ball rolling, and points to the kitchen. “So, dinner is ready but, um, I don’t know if you want me to make your plate, or if you want to make your own, or…”
“I can make it,” you insist, standing to your feet and grabbing the very nice, probably very expensive plate. You pray that you won’t drop it, somehow. “I wanna see what your kitchen looks like, anyway.”
Mr. Getō chuckles, light and good-natured. And, if you sway, it’s not your fault. “Why?”
You shrug, following him into through a doorway. “Tells you a lot about a person.”
Mr. Getō makes a sound, a hum of contemplative agreement. And, the kitchen is…aggressively domestic. This is about to be the worst first date of your life, you already know—not because it’s going to end poorly, but because you kind of want this man. And, you can’t tell yourself the last time you’ve been on a second date.
Two bowls fill the island—one with spaghetti (spahgeti), one with salad—and a plate of garlic bread. It smells heavenly and your mouth waters, completely forgetting your mission to judge this man into unattractiveness.
(Though, there’s nothing to judge. All it says is that he’s quite organized, and loves his daughters.)
You notice a familiar drawing pinned to the fridge—it’s a simple one, with three stick figures holding hands, the two on the ends much shorter than the one in the middle. They stand on a poorly crayoned field, and the names mimi, nana, and papa are written above their respective figures in black crayon, along with a date in the corner.
“They drew that the first day of class,” Mr. Getō reminisces, coming around the counter to get a better look. The date lines up—as does the fact that you struggled to place it. “Came home ranting about how they wanted Miss Y/N to be their mama.”
You snort, and ignore every feeling in your being—including the weight of the plate in your hands. It doesn’t drop, though. “Kids have no shame.”
“None. Especially mine.” Mr. Getō adds, moving past you to rummage through a cupboard. Then, offering, “Water? Also—help yourself.”
As your eyes follow his arm when he gestures to the counter, your stomach grumbles on cue. It’s not your fault you don’t know how to cook. You nod, grabbing the giant plastic spoon, and try your best to not seem greedy.
“Yes, please! This looks so good, Mr. Getō, I—”
“Suguru,” he corrects, and you nearly jump. He’s behind you, now, reaching for something, you don’t know, you’re not paying attention. Suguru, your brain goes. Suguru, Suguru, Suguru—
“Y’know, I don’t think I ever knew your first name,” you realize aloud, taking the last spoonful you’ll allow yourself. He drifts away to fill the glasses with water, and you exhale, finally being able to breathe. You move onto the salad.
“That’s it?” He asks and hands you a glass, eyeing your plate. You gulp. Did you fuck up, already?”
“Have some more.” And then, he’s grabbing another spoonful of spaghetti—one much fuller than any of the three you gave yourself. “Please—I made so much food.”
“Well, yeah,” you defend. “But, y’know, Nanako and Mimiko are gonna eat some, so—”
“And, they’re five. They eat this much,” Suguru takes the plate from you (you’ve lost your privileges, clearly) and fills the spoon again, lifting it in the air like it represents ‘this much.’ “It’s okay if you don’t finish it, I just—I want to make sure you get enough.”
He hands the plate back to you, not before adding two pieces of garlic bread, much heavier than you found it. It’s accompanied by a sheepish smile, one that makes it seem like he’s digging a grave for himself deeper than necessary. Your heart swells nonetheless. Then, you stomp on it, chanting stupid, stupid, stupid, because, if you think he isn’t doing this just to humor his daughters, you’d be just that. Stupid.
“Oh!” You remember, “I also brought wine—I don’t know if you’re, like, a wine guy, or not, but—”
“Sure,” Suguru shrugs as he starts to fill his own plate. You waver with your own by the threshold, because you don’t know what to do otherwise. “There are wine glasses on the table. Let’s pop it open.”
“Yes, now kiss! K-I-S-S-I-N—”
“Shhhh—they’re going to hear us!”
“Opa!”
You love opening a wine bottle. You love the pop of the cork, the resistance from the air—but, you let Suguru open it this time. Because, God forbid your elbow goes flying, or the cork, and you knock over one of his lovely candles, and set his very nice place on fire. Suguru scrunches his nose with a smile at your exclamation. You remember where you are, again.
“Sorry,” you recant, and Suguru just shakes his head, slowly filling your glass.
“No—I like it when you’re comfortable.”
With that, he passes the glass back and smiles, and you…ignore what he just said, actually. Because, you’re already a hop, skip, and a jump from falling for this man, and there is absolutely no point in doing that.
“What do you do for work?” You ask instead, because anything other than small talk would turn garbled. Suguru eyes lift from his own filling glass, to you, like it was a question he wasn’t expecting.
“Oh, um, I’m a Lit professor, actually.”
“Lit as in…literature, or as in lit-lit, like turnt lit?” You’re reaching, you doubt the word lit is anywhere in Suguru’s vocabulary unless he means literature, but you just need to double-check.
“As in literature,” he chuckles, swirling wine around the glass like a professional. “I, unfortunately, doubt any of my students would refer to me as lit.”
“You never know,” you shrug, taking a bite. After a swallow and a hum, you nod. “This is really good.”
“Thanks,” he grins, and takes a sip of the wine. His eyes widen, like he wasn’t expecting it, but, “so is this.”
You thank him in return, and silence comes back screaming. You hate to say it’s because you’re stuffing your face, and you try to do so as politely as possible, but you are, and it’s not your fault—the food is good, and you haven’t found time in between grading obscure drawings and letter identification tests to eat today.
Suguru props a chin on his hand and watches you eat, swirling his glass again—you start to wonder if that’s just something he does with his hands. It isn’t until you realize his fork is clean, food untouched, that you finally falter. With food in your cheeks, no less.
“…Are you not hungry?”
Suguru blinks himself to the present, and whatever look he wore dissipates into his usual. He picks the fork up, after that.
“Yes, sorry,” he huffs a laugh at himself, seemingly self-deprecating. “You’re cute, is all.”
You start choking—partially, because you had the bright idea to swallow when he opened his mouth. You try to wash it down with wine, but when it only prickles the itch, you choose water instead.
“Sorry, was that too forward?” He asks, with a smirk, which makes you think he doesn’t mean it. Not in the genuine way, at least. You wave it off, recovering and trying to breathe through the embarrassment of choking on a noodle like a child.
“No,” you croak, though you want to say yes, but not in a bad way. “No, I’m just…”
You’re just what? Floored? Flabbergasted? Fucking sweating beyond repair?
“Flattered,” you finish. You should probably slow down on the food before you give yourself a stomach ache, but most of it is already gone. Suguru smiles as he chews behind a hand.
“Good.”
You are going to scream. What the fuck is this.
Because, you’re quickly beginning to learn, Mr. Getō and Suguru are two very different people. And, while Mr. Getō is hot, yes, Suguru is…
“What do you think they’re doing, right now?” Suguru’s eyes dart to the hallway, and you snicker.
“Probably eavesdropping!” You yell the last word, only to hear tiny feet scatter. Shaking your head, you mutter, “nosy.”
Suguru snorts. “Tell me about it.”
“Oh, I will,” you nod, unfortunately getting comfortable enough to yap. Well. There it goes—the second date. There it goes, sprinting out the door and on a flight to a different country, until the concept of a second date is no longer feasible. “Those two in class? Little rascals. Sometimes, I have to separate them.”
“Lucky,” Suguru laments with a chuckle. “Wish I could do that at home.”
You shrug, and take a sip of wine. “I’m complaining, but. They’re good kids. They’re smart, and they liven up the place. Even help other kids if they finish their work early—though, that’s mainly Mimiko…Nanako always finds something to do. You did good.”
“Thanks,” Suguru says, and suddenly, the burning candlelight is much more interesting than your face. “I get…worried, you know? That they don’t have a mom.”
“Sure, but,” and you look into the hallway again, wondering if the girls came back, how much of the conversation they can actually hear. “They’ve got you. And, from what I hear, you fill both roles spectacularly.”
Suguru shrugs. “I try.”
Suguru shrugs, and you overstep. Possibly. Maybe. “Am I allowed to ask what happened?”
“Oh,” he laughs, tight and bordering on bitter, with eyes trained tight on the plate before him. “I’m, um, technically not their dad. We’re related—cousins, but I’ve been taking care of them since they were babies. Their parents, uh, weren’t exactly up to the task.”
He keeps it vague but answers anyway. You take the hint, and don’t pry anymore. There’s a part of you that relaxes at that fact, the fact that there isn’t another woman, but you berate yourself for it immediately. It doesn’t seem like a good thought to have.
“Well—I think you’re the best dad they could ask for. This spahgeti? Fire.”
Suguru laughs, for what you realize, is technically the very first time—not around words or to hide behind, but an actual laugh, that rumbles from his belly outward with a smile that crowds his eyes. You want to hear it again, and again, and again, until you’re too dizzy, and have to get off the ride, or else.
He’s still smiling upon recovery. “You’re sweet.”
You frown, “but, I mean it!”
Suguru snorts, and looks back down to his plate. That smile doesn’t fade.
“I know.”
Dinner goes by faster than you want it to.
To stall, you offer to help with the dishes. Suguru doesn’t let you—but he does let you stay.
“—and then, she said God fucking shit.”
“No,” you gasp from your seat by the kitchen island. Suguru nods wisely.
“Oh, yes,” he hisses. You ignore the way his back works as he dries the last dish, opting to fiddle with a ring on your finger instead of drool, but, occasionally, lift to partake in the sinfully domestic sight. “I wish the walls weren’t so thin when I stub my toe, but.”
“But, they’re always listening,” you finish with a giggle, because, been there, done that. Suguru huffs in agreement.
“Yes,” Suguru laments, and after placing the dry dish into a cupboard, turns to you. “Top five most horrifying moments of my life when I heard her say it.”
“I can imagine. I…also stubbed my toe a while ago, said dammit, and we had a kid that wouldn’t stop saying it for weeks. Had to explain it to his parents and everything,” you sigh. The embarrassment from the whole situation comes back in full force as you tuck a head into your hands. He chuckles, placing the towel over the sink.
“Sounds like you have it worse than me.”
“Meh, only from 8-5,” you shrug, but he shakes his head.
“Exactly,” Suguru insists while resting a forearm on the island across from you. “And I have mine from 5-8—but only two kids, not twenty.”
“They wrangle each other, half the time,” you wave. “Quiet Coyote works wonders.”
“I’m sure it does,” Suguru chuckles, and stands up, pushing away from the counter. “Let me walk you out.”
Ah, yes. It’s that time, now, isn’t it?
Suguru walks you the few steps to the door, it not being too far from the kitchen. You’re about to say goodbye, maybe shake his hand or something else equally awkward—whatever people do after first dates when they don’t go horribly. But, the second you reach the foyer, little feet come bounding around the corner.
“You’re leaving already?”
“No, stay! We can have a sleepover!”
You giggle when Suguru sighs, getting down on a knee to turn to his daughters. “Girls—We’ve taken up enough of her time. Miss Y/N has a life outside of class, you know.”
Which, is false, but you appreciate the sentiment nonetheless. They whine and pout but Suguru has the last word, and after you hug them goodbye, he sends them to their rooms. Knowing them, they’re still lingering in the hallway, hiding behind a wall.
“Good to know they had fun, too,” you snort, and Suguru stands, fighting a smile and failing.
“Nosy little brats,” he mutters under his breath. Then, hollering over his shoulder, “Go to bed, you two!”
More shuffling feet, and you sigh. “They’re not going to bed.”
“Nope,” Suguru shakes his head in agreement. “Not at all.”
“Well, um, that’s my cue,” you say, stilted, and tightening the grip on your purse. “I should probably go before the trains stop running.”
“Oh! Yes,” Suguru says, like he forgot, and like he expected to linger with you in his doorway forever. “I had fun.”
“I did, too.”
Suguru makes no move to let you out—and you make no move to leave, because you don’t know how his front door works, whether you have to unlock before you exit, and would prefer to avoid embarrassing yourself after an genuinely decent night. Suguru scratches the back of his head.
“I was wondering, actually, if you’d like to go on a proper date,” he says it around a breath, one he was holding. “One without my daughters right around the corner.”
“We’re not listening!”
“…Like that,” he mutters, but you’re too busy trying to make sure your feet are firmly planted on his lovely wooden flooring, not floating in the air on cloud nine.
“Oh, as in,” you breathe, and promptly black out. Hopefully, you say something that makes enough sense. “Uh, yeah. Yep. Definitely down for that.”
“Okay, great,” he smiles, and it’s that smile again, the one you want to bottle and keep forever. “When are you available?”
“Oh, whenever,” you say, before you realize you should dial it back, dial it way back. “I mean—uh, preferably not school days, but I’m pretty free on the weekends.”
“How about a week from now? Next Saturday.”
Next Saturda—do you even have time to purge your closet by next Saturday?
“Sure, sounds good.”
“Ice cream, Papa!”
“No.”
“Pleaaaaase?”
“No.”
“Pretty please with a cherry on top?”
“…Fine.”
“Really?!”
Monday comes, and you’re fucking terrified.
Because, Suguru is a guy straight out of a YA novel—and you don’t know whether he asked you out again to humor his kids, again (you’re in denial), or if a guy that you actually find physically and emotionally attractive wants to go on a date with you. Again.
But, you’re about to find out, because—
“Good Morning, Miss Y/N!”
You put on a brave face, the bravest face you can muster. Also, just your luck, you’re running out of laundry, and instead of doing it Saturday night like you usually do, you went to Suguru’s. Sunday, you were too busy panicking to be useful. So, yes, maybe you have on the ugliest cat sweater you own—but it was either that, or a cacti shirt.
“Good Morning, girls, how was your weekend?” You ask, before quickly realizing playing dumb was not the way to go.
“It was good! You made Papa so happy he took us to get ice cream the next day, and he never does that!” Nanako tries to whisper, but she’s a child with little control over her vocal chords, and you flinch.
“Oh, really?”
Mimiko nods in agreement—but, before she can respond, Suguru is quick in ushering them deeper into the room and, more importantly, away from you.
“They need to stop telling on me,” Suguru chuckles as he returns to usual perch by the doorway. “Like, now.”
You giggle. “That’s all kids ever do, Sug—I mean, Mr. Getō.”
You’re sweating. That was a close one.
“Suguru,” he corrects, looking at you with eyes bordering on a beg. “Please.”
“Well, Suguru,” you say, swallowing panic when another parent gives you an appalled look. “Uh, how was your weekend?”
“It was nice,” he nods, watching the room. “My daughters harassed this woman into going on a date with me. Luckily, I already had my eye on her.”
Oh, you think, and try to wrack your brain for who it could be. Definitely not you.
Your stuck, actually, literally frozen, despite the sweat forming at the small of your back. Suguru keeps talking. “Six, again? I’ll pick you up.”
And, because your brain is stupid, and, you don’t know, maybe he wants to go on a hike or something—
“Wait—am or pm?”
Suguru snorts. “Pm.”
Oh. That’s like, date-date time. Though, you suppose it was last time, but this is an actual date, not a ‘my daughters won’t quit unless we do this’ date.
“Sure, yeah. Totally—six is great.”
Suguru squeezes your hand before he leaves for the day. His harem of single moms glare like you killed the child support they get from their divorcees. And you…
You almost forget to put Nanako and Mimiko’s lunch boxes in the fridge. Almost.
“fuck baby, just like that.” denki groans, leaning back on the couch as you bounce up and down on his cock.
“denki i just- mmf! denki ‘m so full.”
bang! the front door slams open and snap your neck, continuing to ride denki as his roommates walk in.
“shit.” kirishima covers his eyes, clicking the door shut behind him.
“damn.” sero tilts his head, watching the way your ass jiggles after each sticky smack.
“dude!” kirishima slaps a hand over sero’s eyes.
“sorry.” denki calls out. “left half the blunt in the ashtray.” his hands grab your ass, scooting lower and starts fucking up into you. “fuck baby.” spank!
“we’ll-”
“nghhh!” you toss your head back. “fuck denki, i’m gonna- ahhh!” you gasp, spine straightening as your orgasm washes through you.
“move your fuckin hand.” sero slaps kirishima’s hand away.
“light it and pass it.” denki looks over your shoulder.
“wha- now?” kirishima drops his other arm, trying to look anywhere but at you.
sero is already walking towards the ashtray and taking a seat next to the both of you. “what? denki’s room too dirty for you, sweetheart?” blunt between his lips as he lights it.
“nah, she couldn’t wait.” denki bucks up into you, reaching over as sero passes the blunt.
“shouldn’t you.. like cover up, man.” kirishima winces when you turn to him with a pout.
“don’t like lookin at me, kiri?” you reach for him and his cheeks flush.
“think he likes lookin at you too much.” denki chuckles. “go over there.” he lifts you off his dick and plops you down on kiri’s lap.
“dude!? i- ??” he holds his hands up and squeezes his eyes shut.
“wanna fuck her?” denki lulls his head to the side and you roll your hips.
“can i fuck kiri?” you whine at denki. “please?” you push your lower lip out.
“and what about me?” sero pouts his lips out.
“what do you think baby?” denki offers you a lazy smile. “wanna give my friends a ride?” he passes you the blunt.
“mhm mhm.” you nod quickly, taking a hit and pushing it back into denki’s hand.
you lean forward, pressing your lips to kiri’s and blowing the smoke in his mouth. sero and denki watch at the way kiri flushes under your touch as you shove your hands under his shorts. you whine when his cock pops out, already glistening with little beads of pre.
“‘s big.” you lean back and pump him once before lifting up on your knees.
“bet he’ll cum in 2 minutes.” sero chuckles, watching the way you slide kiri up and down your folds.
“nahh, i give him 5.” denki pushes sero’s chest.
“guys..” he groans as you sink onto his tip. “shut up.” his hands grip your waist as he looks up at you. “pretty. so pretty baby.” he nods as you take inch after inch.
“you’re a pretty baby too.” sero purrs in denkis ear, plucking the blunt out of his hand and dabbing it out in the ashtray.
“wha- hah! fuck sero.” sero’s hand wraps around denki’s cock
“forgot how squirmy you get.” sero thumbs at his underside. “she’s got you fuckin soaked.” he hums, pumping him faster.
you can’t decide if you want to look down at kiri as you suck him in or over at the way sero has denki’s hips jerking off the couch. kiri grinds his hips up and your attention falls to him, eyes fluttering as he repeats the movement. his hands grip your waist as he starts to fuck up into you, not letting you do any of the work.
“shit hanta.” denki can’t help the way he fucks up into sero’s hand.
“gonna cum before ei?” sero chuckles.
“shut up.” denki’s thighs shake.
“nghh!” you’re clinging onto kiri as he pounds up into you.
kirishima has you held tightly to his chest as he snaps his hips up onto yours. your pussy is strangling his cock, your lips brushing against his neck as you whimper right into his ear. his fingers harden into your skin and your walls flutter, thighs shaking, with one more harsh snap of his hips, you cum with a cry of his name.
“shitshitshit.” kiri holds you down on his thighs as he fills you.
you turn your head to the side and find denki sated, breathing heavy with cum all over his abs and sero slowly jerking himself. sero gives you a lazy smile and reaches out a hand to you and you lift off of kiri. sero helps you over to him and slides you right down onto his cock.
“got you all to myself.” he brushes your hair back.
“hanta.” your lashes flutter.
“hm?” he slowly starts to fuck you up and down.
“‘m so tired.” you rest your head on his shoulder. “just.. use me. please.”
“ohhh, i know baby.” he coos, trailing a hand up your spine.
sero scoots down until you’re laying on his chest and he can fuck up into you. each drag out and push back in has your toes curling, little puffs of air leaving your lips and splaying across his warm skin. you press kisses all over his neck, trembling in his arms, breath catching as an orgasm already bursts through you.
“s’okay. i got you.” he rubs your back when he feels the tears on his neck.
“feels s’good.” you’re practically limp in his arms.
you peek out of his neck and see denki staring at you with lidded eyes as he strokes himself. you blink past him and kiri is doing the same, lips parted and letting out little moans. sero bucks up into you and you bury yourself back into his neck.
“focus on me.”
your hands tangle in his hair, gummy walls spasming around him at his low words. he hits that one spot and you gasp, yanking on his hair and he grins. he pushes against it over and over until you’re cumming and whining as he starts to fill you.
“can’t move.” you’re limp against him.
“don’t gotta.” denki rubs your back.
“gonna clean you up real nice.” he hums.
instead of taking you to the bath, they take you to dennis room and lay you back on the bed. each taking turns sucking the cum out of you.
bang! the front door opens and snaps shut.
“denki!!! why does the apartment smell like sex?” you hear katsuki walking down the hall. “you idiots didn’t invite me?”
“kats.” you squirm.
“they make you cum?”
“mhm.” a nod of your head.
“they clean you up yet?” he looks at the way they have your legs spread wide.
“mm-mm.” you shake your head.
“wanna take a bath?” he grins when you nod your head.
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You and Clark live across from each other, apartments 6A and 6B. It was the only way that he felt alright with you living alone in such a big city. At least he was there to protect you. It also meant you were constantly over at his place, or he was cooking you both dinner in your kitchen. There was nothing to hide or be ashamed of.
Clark had just come back from patrol, fresh off a kaiju defeat somewhere in the Pacific and a runaway bus earlier before work. It was late, nearly 1 am, and he was exhausted. He meant to shower and sleep at your place, but he had run out of clean towels. So Clark uses the spare key and quickly showers at your place instead. He swears he’ll sleep in his own bed for once.
The sight of you sprawled across your bed in just a tanktop stops Clark in his tracks. You look so pretty in the moonlight, all smooth skin and shiny hair that creates a halo around your angelic face. And god, you weren’t wearing anything besides that white tank. Clark coos; he can see your pretty folds, all swollen and wet. You must’ve tried getting off yourself, if the blue vibrator on your bedside table was a sign. And Clark knew you hadn’t gotten relief. You never did without Clark. You were too used to him.
As if in trance, he kneels on the floor. He’s eye level with your pussy now, in all her glory. He doesn’t think, just leans forward and licks up a drop of sweetness. “Golly…” He whimpers, diving back in again.
Clark gets you wet and open, his tongue following the familiar folds and crevices of your pussy. He’s messy with it too. There’s spit dripping down his chin, and he keeps gulping down each dribble of slick. He even suckles at your clit, lips around it in a dirty kiss. Clark can’t stop, doesn’t think about how you’re asleep. He knows you, he knows that you would want this.
Clark keeps going, and his tongue soon wiggles right into your greedy hole. Your walls even pulse in time with each thrust and lick. A soft moan escapes your mouth as the pleasure draws you out.
“Wha… Clark! Oh!” You immediately are thrown into rapture as Clark yanks you harder onto his mouth. His tongue works frantically over your clit.
“M’sorry darling- just needed you-“ Clark babbles between sucks and slurps. “Missed you so much- s’wrong- sorry-“
Your hands fly to his curls, yanking his face deeper into your cunt. Clark slips two fingers right in, curling them just right against your front wall. “Don’t stop, so close… so good baby…”
Your orgasm slams into you as Clark scissors his fingers in you and slurps your clit. Your body writhes, and Clark has to hold you down through it. As soon as your orgasm ebbs Clark’s fumbling for his shorts and shoving them to his knees. Your vision sparks as Clark sheathed himself in you.
“So warm, darling, always so good for me…” Clark whines. He begins to thrust, his cock kissing your cervix. His veins throb heavy against your walls, each clench making him twitch. “Unh- gonna come in you-“
Your hands rake down his back. His cock’s heavy in you, each thrust squelching more slick out. “Gimme- please!”
With a satisfied whine, Clark cums heavy warm ropes into you, lips smashed against yours.
giving zuko head but he can't look at you when you do because he's so bad with eye contact, and worse when you've got his entire cock in your mouth.
it's not with you on your knees either, you insisted he take the blowjob with him laying back so he can enjoy himself and look without touching you, just resting on the headboard with those strong arms behind his head while you're practically face down in his crotch and ass up, which you teasingly flaunt and sway side to side, arching your back perfectly while your mouth works around his cock.
he has no idea where you learned this from. he never taught you or told you to smooth your tongue around the flared head, tracing the slit first and practically sucking the pre-cum out from him, before rolling your tongue around the rim and the underside to feel all the ridges and curves. he nearly came the first time you did it, but you've started doing it every time you come up. down, sucking in as much as you can get without choking, then going back up and teasing the tip with his cock.
that little tip action already has him so achingly close, and he knows one look in your eyes will have him creaming on your tongue five minutes in to the experience. he's trying so hard not to be pathetic and to just hold it in, but with how your throat works around his fat cock and your lips wrap around, slackening just so you can coax more of him into your mouth at once, he can't. he just can't.
he tips his head up and closes his eyes, running his fingers through his long hair and breathing in through his nose, out through his mouth to try and regulate himself, will himself not to look at your ass or into your eyes or at those plush lips smothering the shaft of his cock, but he can't handle it.
you can't say you're disappointed when he cums too early, whining your name between heavy, breathy groans and bursting a fat load onto your tongue so early on. and you definitely can't fault him when he stays rock hard because watching you swallow every drop of his load has his stomach twisting up and his cock throbbing despite overstimulation. "this time, you look at me, zu. okay?"
he nods stupidly, a glossy sheen in his eyes as you go in again, his gaze flitting between your mouth descending around his length and your head bobbing for a second to adjust to his size; cumming has just had him swelling up even more. you splutter a bit when he accidentally bucks into your mouth, needing you not to go so slow or he'll cum again, but that was a big mistake. you take the little sign of confidence from him as an indicator that he needs you to go harder, and without warning, you breathe through your nose and descend your mouth as much as you can, now deepthroating his cock. most of it is disappeared into the warm, velvety confines of your mouth.
and, against his will, he's cumming again immediately.
synopsis. clark finds exactly what he was looking for when he goes to a public gym for the first time.
jimmy'd been bugging clark to start coming to the gym with him for about three weeks now. clark knew because he'd been counting.
"why are you gatekeeping your routines from me, man?" he'd been complaining in his ear since the daily planet staff social three fridays ago. "you've already got the cute puppy dog look that girls go nuts over. there's literally zero reason for you to not show me your plans so i can get as fit as you."
clark had sighed and told him not to base his self-worth on his physique alone, but jimmy had shooed him off and told him, quote, "not to get all patronizing and to just be his gym buddy already." clark had caved today, finally, since he was sure a guy like jimmy would quit the gym in a few days anyway.
much to his surprise though, friday, saturday, and sunday evening joint workouts had started to become a routine for them. though clark had never worked in a public gym before and had got all his - as jimmy would call them - "gains" from the justice league tower gym, (which he obviously couldn't disclose to jimmy and had to buy a public gym membership on the spot when he'd visited with his friend) he couldn't say he was fond of it even thought it was an entirely new experience. he constantly felt eyes on him. judging him, inspecting him... getting too much attention from curious betas or shy omegas.
not to mention the cloying mix of so many scents at once. it made his brain hurt.
he didn't have to worry about that in the justice league, because nearly all the members were Alphas, with a few exceptions of a beta here and there. very manageable. here, in a public scene, it was too much.
too many eyes, scents, which were heavier everyone's hot and sweaty, and worse, communal areas. the gym had a unisex changeroom for some odd reason, with built in showers and even a sauna. he would walk in and some omega would be trotting around in just a bikini.
he made a point to come changed to the gym so he wouldn't have to use it. changing out of his sweaty clothes would be done in the backseat of his car after he finished his workout.
regardless of the cons that came with using a public gym, the weight room had everything clark needed. mostly only alphas lingered in that zone anyway, so it was a relief on his part.
he'd been lifting with jimmy until nearly every muscle in his body felt sore and hot from exertions, and he felt he was ready to turn in for the night. giving jimmy a goodbye and a quick handshake, he grabs his bag and starts heading out of the room and to the exit, before his gaze catches on two women. one is watching and giving encouragements, and the other, you, are using the smith machine for your squats.
clark freezes in place.
he's close enough to smell you. there's a sweet, pleasant scent radiating from you. not the sickeningly sweet kind he inhales from some omegas, a very peaceful and soothing one. it nearly makes his eyes droop and his mouth water. he confirms that you are indeed an omega by the soft mating gland on your bare neck - your hair being up in a ponytail helping him get a full glimpse of it. it's sealed. there's no trace of an alpha mixing with your scent either. just an unclaimed, very pretty omega.
the world feels muted around him for a moment, even the rhythmic clink of weights and the faint hiss of the machines going dull in his senses as he fixates on you. you switch out with your friend, rubbing sweat off your forehead as you tip your head back to get a drink of water, giving him an even better view of your side profile and your neck.
clark forces himself to crouch down and pretend to tie his shoe, which was already double knotted, so he has to fumble around for a bit. you distracting him, looking so beautiful, doesn't help either. he's fixated on the way you move around, stretching, and the way your plush lips move as you speak.
he doesn't mean to stare. he knows it's dreadfully impolite and probably very creepy, but his mind has locked onto you with instinctive fascination. he's drawn to you in a way that gives him tunnel vision, which is saying much as you're a complete stranger. but still, everything but you has faded into the background.
as he zones out on your face, your eyes lift and meet his across the room. he freezes up immediately, feeling the telltale signs of a blush spreading across his cheeks. the heat rising up his neck, the way his ears are throbbing and warm, the sweat pooling on his brow... fuck. he must look insane to you right now.
instead, your gaze is simply curious. you tilt your head at him inquisitively, eyes all bright and perhaps interested. he quickly glances back at his bag, pretending to fumble with it, hoping to buy himself a few seconds to think. he drops it accidentally onto the ground like a fool.
his struggles seemed to amuse you, by the way you turn to your friend and laugh softly. the sound is liquid warmth that echoes in his chest. he knows you're talking about him. for sure, you are. you look back at him and smile shyly, then giggle again and turn away, urging your friend to go back to her set and to stop looking at him.
“clark! what are you still doing here? i thought you were heading home!” jimmy calls as he emerges from the changeroom, towel slung over his shoulder. his eyes squint at clark suspiciously.
clark jolts upright upon hearing his name, freezing up like a deer caught in headlights. he gets to his feet quickly, heart pounding. “i-i was… i was just, uh…” he flails internally, searching for some excuse that won’t expose the fact that he’s been staring at a random omega across the gym. “i j-just got something stuck on my shoe a-and it was bugging me.” he waves awkwardly toward jimmy, clutching his bag a little too tightly, and adds, “well uh, see you tomorrow.”
jimmy watches clark practically bolt to the exit, eyes wide in surprise. "alright... don't be a stranger" he says to the spot clark was in a few moments ago.
once clark is outside, the cool air does little to calm his speeding heart rate. all from one look at you and few inhales of your scent. as he gets in the car and throws his bag in the passenger seat. he's had crushes before, been with a good amount of people for a man his age, but he's never acted up like this on a first impression. his pulse keeps skyrocketing when he thinks of you. he already feels the tug of wanting to see you again.
...
the next time clark sees you is in the warm up area while you stretch to get ready for today's workout. he stops by curiously, unable to help himself. he'd been thinking about you all night, in all honesty. your face, what your name might be, why you're not claimed, what you do for work. he wants to know everything about you.
his eyes follow your movements as you lean over and touch your shoes while chatting with your gym buddy, the same girl from yesterday. a completely unwarranted burst of jealousy fills him. how could someone like her spot you and train you? he could push you further and motivate you to keep up with his pace while he guided you in the gym. he could spot you while you pushed yourself to the limits with the heaviest weights you could manage, not this woman, who looked a lot more wiry and weak than you. you looked to be the one training her, which clark found inefficient...
he scowls to himself and tries to push the thoughts away quickly. he's being ridiculously territorial over a stranger, but he can't help himself. when alphas find the omega of their dreams, which he's pretty sure has happened to him, wanting to seclude them from everyone else is not an easy instinct to control. he forces a breath through his nose and urges himself to mind his own business, but jimmy seems to be interested in the room clark's been lingering by.
"y'know what, stretching's a good idea, buddy." he puts his hand on clark's shoulder. "i didn't believe in it till i nearly tore something in my leg yesterday. not fun. you head in while i change. i really should start doing it before i get here like you do..."
clark tries not to freak out at the idea of being in such close proximity to you in a not-so-big space. conveniently, too, your friend mumbles something to you and goes out of the room as well to grab something, leaving you and clark alone.
he pauses, unable to believe the way things have played out for him, but pushes himself forward, walking past you to grab a mat. he finds himself trying not to salivate, chewing on his lower lip in hopes to contain himself. as he sits down a few feet to your right, your scent worms its way into his brain once again, making his eyes heavy and lidded. Omega pheromones. Omega sweat. Omega pussy.
He feels his brain reverting to it's simplest capacity, fixating on you beneath him, mewling, calling him alpha as he pushes his fat cock slowly in and out of your dripping pussy, and begging for his knot.
you draw him out of his filthy thoughts by turning to speak to him. “hey,” you call across the mats, “weren’t you here yesterday too?”
clark straightens instinctively, cheeks heating again. he can’t help it. “um... y-yeah. i, uh, come here sometimes after work.” he hopes his voice doesn’t sound as unsteady to you as it does to him.
you nod and bring your legs into a butterfly hold while you speak to him. “cool. guess we’re on the same schedule then.” you smile once and bend forward again, oblivious to how he’s gone a little dizzy from your scent drifting closer.
he blinks a little, not wanting to end the conversation on a yeah, cool. and certainly exaggerating a story a bit to spend more time with you couldn't be bad, could it? omegas were instinctively driven to aid and obey an alpha. so if he asked for your help, you'd just be doing your due duties. omegas often got off on things like this anyway, so if anything, he'd be doing you a favor.
he sighs, trying to act as sheepish and dumb as possible. "i-i'm a little lost, actually. i don't usually work out here and i haven't gotten to know all the rooms and equipment yet. i'm more of a home gym guy." he pauses, scrambling to think of a continuation. "i m-mean, i was going to look for the pool today, but i think i took a wrong turn and ended up here."
your gaze turned understanding, and you nodded along with everything he told you with rapt attention. "yeah, i get it. didn't help that your friend abandoned you, right?" you stand up and start to put away your mat. "my gym partner had to go grab something from her car, and it's like a labyrinth trying to find an exit anyway, so i have some time to kill. i can show you where the pool is."
"thank you so much," he said, truly grateful. though he hadn't planned on swimming today, he was actually thankful for your help and allowing him to be around you for a really long time, with how you described how far the trek is. you start walking out of the stretching room, beckoning for him to follow you, which he did. but as your back turns, he leans closer and takes a long inhale of your scent, trying to burrow it inside his system. its so sweet. and even better when he smells it straight from the source, that mating gland of yours.
which, he just noticed, has started leaking oil. your body's way of telling you an alpha is near and interested. he bites back a groan. he walks closely to you so your arms can "accidentally" brush against each other. "thank you for taking me," he said appreciatively, looking down at you intently as you lead him to an elevator. from what it looked like, the pools were on the lowest floor of the gym. "i'm clark."
"no problem," you smile up at him, eyes shining. you give him your name in return, and he whispers it back to you softly. he's sure to be as close to you as possible in the confined space, but the proximity is far too much for clark right now, especially since he'd been thinking about doing filthy things to you every second since he met you. on the way home, while eating dinner, while laying in bed with his hand wrapped around his cock...
the elevator descends a little, now in motion, but his heart rate has only increased since. his huge frame is taking up so much space, and you're backed into a corner. you're so small compared to him. he could do anything to you...
he lifts his arm, wanting to touch you. he plans to make some excuse to cup your face by pretending there's an imaginary speck of dust or an eyelash on your cheeks, when his elbow hits the emergency stop button on the side by accident.
the elevator lurches to a stop so hard that you stumble forward, bracing a hand on the clark's broad chest. his reflexes are instant; his arm snakes around your waist to steady you. his palms are huge and warm as they hold you through your thin workout clothes, holding you there like he’s been dying for the excuse.
“oh, shoot.” he murmurs, “i didn’t mean to um, hit that.” his hand doesn’t leave your waist, thumb drifting against your bare waist. your eyes flick up to his tentatively, meeting his hungry gaze. the alpha's pupils have blown wide; even his breathing is heavier now, chest rising against the snug compression shirt he’s wearing.
his scent shifts. you take a deep inhale of warmth, cedar, and his hormones. it's masculine and would be overpowering if it was from some creepy, domineering alpha, but your senses settle because it's him. you don't know why you trust a stranger so much, but the way he speaks to you, so soft and compassionate, makes your defenses lower and your instincts give a purr of satisfaction.
your mating gland gives another betraying throb, a fresh drop of oil slicking the skin there. clark’s gaze flicks down to it and then back up, fighting the urge to lick away the sweet syrup. his hands clench on your waist. you swallow thickly.
"i-it's okay," you say softly. "i saw. it was an accident..."
you're definitely not on suppressants. it's clear to him. he can feel all of you, feel the way your body reacts to him and how your eyes keep flicking down to his mouth. and the way you're pressing up against him. he wants to feel more of your soft, supple skin under his thick fingers.
he wants to feel your tight pussy stretch around his thick knot.
you had to know what you were doing to him right now, didn't you? you've walked around the gym two days now in such tiny, spandex crop tops, your sports bra doing little to cover your budding nipples, and the trickles of sweat running down your exposed skin, creating a soft sheen...
at least clark had been smart enough to not wear shorts again to the gym, opting instead for dark sweatpants that would hide the way his knot has started to swell up and press against his hardening cock. he hasn't stopped crowding you in the corner of the elevator, pressing up against you hard enough that if you really paid attention, you'd notice his swollen cock pressing between your thighs. all he had to do was pull away your little shorts and slide into you. he can smell how wet you're getting already. any longer and you'll start dripping down your bare thighs.
“c-clark? should we contact admin for mngh- help?” you take a deep breath in, wanting to de-fog your head. you can't possibly be this turned on by getting pinned by a stranger, even if he is handsome. this is entirely inappropriate, and both your friends are probably back and wondering where the two of you are right now. you're extremely embarrassed at the way your body keeps releasing your pheromones at him, wanting him to mate with you right now. but he's relishing in the way he can nearly taste the scent of your leaking pussy in the air around both of you. he doesn't miss the little moan you let out when you speak either. he knows you're feeling it just as much as he is.
he drops both hands to your hips at your suggestion, pulling you as close to him as possible and leaning down so that your noses were nearly brushing. your eyes widen and your pupils dilate a little more. his have turned nearly black by now. you really start to realize the situation you're in - how you're caged into a corner, trapped in a confined space with an alpha about to experience a rut, how all your senses are responding him and basically screaming "come fuck me."
"we should st-mmf." is all you get out before he slots his warm mouth over yours, going in instantly with tongue. his slides over yours with urgency, lapping and rolling over yours rhythmically. he moves his hands to cup your face so he can kiss you harder, tilting his head and molding his lips against yours, sucking on the soft flesh hard while his tongue laps at yours. "gosh... i-wanted" wet slurp, "t'do this since i first saw you." he mumbles against your mouth, moaning at your taste and the softness of your lips. he just knew you'd be perfect. that kissing you would be perfect.
you're so responsive too, fisting at his shirt to tug him closer, then moving your hands into his curls and tugging lightly, before dropping them back to his biceps. it's so cute, how you don't know what to do with yourself. you squeak when his hands descend to your breasts, squeezing the soft mounds while his thumbs roll over your nipples. he swallows your noises of pleasure before descending his mouth to your neck, pressing hot, wet kisses down to your throat before licking up all the leakage from your gland. he places his mouth on your gland, sucking straight from the source.
you cry out as he closes down on your most sensitive spot, not giving you a chance to breathe as he puts his thick thigh between your legs, bumping your soaked pussy against his muscled leg and grinding it firm against your core. you're in such ecstasy that all thoughts of shutting this down or getting out of the elevator have slipped your mind, and your head spins at all the stimulation he's inflicting on you. his mouth on your neck, his hands groping your breasts, and his leg between yours.
if you're enjoying this so much, he can't imagine the noises you'll make when he finally pushes inside you and fucks you raw. you pant as he rolls your firm nipples between his fingertips and pinches, the motion making you rock forward on his thigh and leak even more slick onto his dark sweats.
"y'wanna get out of these?" he coos, moving one hand off your tits to tug at your shorts. you nod eagerly, and his hand immediately works to push them down to your ankles, your panties - almost translucent from how soaked you are - coming next. he groans at the sight of your pussy and the scent exuding from it, his mind racing at the thought of splitting your tiny hole open for him. he can't wait any longer.
he pulls away for a second to shove his own pants down, seeing how you whine and follow him, displeased at the sudden loss of touch. "easy, sweetheart." he says soothingly, pulling down his boxers for you after his pants. his fat cock snaps up and hits his stomach, leaking so much pre that the head is completely coated in his mess. it's so thick that it would take two of your hands to wrap around, and the veins lead down to his even thicker knot and balls at the base. he gives himself a few rough pumps, then lifts your leg, aligning your hole with his wet tip, tapping it a few times against your gooey folds.
"a-alpha please," you find yourself begging for him, salivating at the thought of such a big cock inside you. "i-i can't wait any longer!" his instincts purr at the title, and his restraint frays entirely. he starts pushing his head inside, groaning at the instant tightness. he can barely get the head in with how tight you are, despite the wetness trickling out of you in waves now. how is he going to get his knot inside you? "ill make it fit," he promises, groaning lowly at the sensation of his cock pushing deeper inside you.
he rocks his hips a bit to nuzzle his cock deeper, lifting your leg up and hooking it under his arm to get you to open up for him wider. "see? y'taking all of me so good... oh gosh." he thrusts up into you, pushing the tip all the way inside. he goes deeper, and your pussy sucking him deeper inside helps him get deeper, and deeper... he draws back and slams in in a hard thrust, burrowing all of his cock - safe for the knot, deep inside you.
your lead lolls back, a loud moan bubbling out of you. he's all the way inside, cockhead pressing right up on your womb. "fuuuuck, alpha!" you mewl as he starts to thrust into you hard and fast. he fucks up into you, using his hand on your breast and the other balancing your leg to keep you upright. his cock presses deep inside, dragging against your walls with each rough thrust. the thick veins lining his cock rub against them too. it feels so good that you go limp for a second, and he kisses your forehead to soothe you, then completely takes over, lifting your other leg and picking you up against the wall, bouncing you on his cock all by himself. he slowly lifts you off his cock and pulls you up until he's out of you almost completely, safe for his tip lodged inside your hole, then slams you back down and fucks you on his cock like you're a ragdoll.
both of you are moaning so loud now that the people outside must hear it, but your shame is all gone, fingernails scratching at his nape as his knot hits your clit with each bounce, forcing you upwards on his cock and then back down roughly. "gonna fill you up real nice, omega." he says, nudging his face into your neck and lightly sinking his teeth into your flesh, feeling your gland start to break apart as more of your delicious nectar flows into his mouth. he moans, eyes hooded as he soothes the mark with his tongue. his knot starts to swell at the base. you stiffen up and throw your head back, your orgasm taking over you while your fingers twist at the back of his shirt, your juices splattering and coating his cock in creamy slick.
clark fucks you through it, his knot wedging into your hole and then sliding inside with a pop, lubricated by your orgasm. "omega- fuck" he swears, so into it that he goes out of character. "fuck, 'm gonna pump you full, okay? get y'full of my babies." when you nod and shove your fingers in his hair, dragging your mouth against his, he cums hard, shooting thick ropes of cum into your puffy cunt while his knot stays lodged inside you. he fills you up with warm, thick cum, painting your insides and keeping you filled with his knot stuck firm inside of you. he keeps his mouth locked on yours as the receiver next to the stop button on the door flickers, having been on for a while now.
"um... is everything okay in there?"
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pulling on zuko’s hair when you get overstimulated ,,
ever since you met zuko, you were immediately attracted to him.
it wasn’t really because of his overly attractive face, or his captivating brown eyes, or even his caring personality.
While of course all of those traits counted too, the real main attraction was his long, dark, silken locs that framed his chiseled face perfectly.
And when he puts it in a bun, oh my gosh your heart would melt. He’s just so handsome!
zuko would always laugh at your comments about his hair, thinking what you’re saying is just a lighthearted joke,, kind of.
today you and zuko are outside, appreciating the radiant sun beaming on your faces while smelling the crisp air flow towards the sky. zuko’s sitting in your lap while you sit up.
“zuko if you ever cut off your hair i swear i will kill you myself, with or without bending” you mutter as you run your fingers through his soft tresses, observing the way the shadowy treads cascade through your hand back to his scalp.
he chuckles at that, amused and a bit concerned. “ok baby, i’ll keep that noted..” already knowing how you feel about his hair. It’s always the same ‘threats’ from you about his hair, but it never gets old, especially if it’s coming from you the one he loves most.
because of your adoration about his hair, he takes pride in it, and accepts all the praise you give him.
especially when he’s face down in between your thighs, eating you out with a purpose.
you lay in your shared bed, writhing and shaking, eyes hazy with lust and tiredness, for this is the ?th orgasm zuko managed to pull from you from just eating your pussy alone.
“mm fuck zu..” you slur your words, legs pinned down by zuko’s huge arms, while you hands twitch besides your head, needing stability.
zuko circles his tongue around around you clit before sucking on it hard, while he takes one of his thick scared fingers and probes it at your entrance.
“so wet for me..” zuko releases his mouth just to look at your swollen nub, before spitting a fat glob of spit on it. “are you feeling good baby?” he asks still looking down at your folds before diving back into your cunt, not giving you time to respond.
“oh my- yes zu yes” you moan, back arching off the bed trying to wiggle your way out of his grip, it was to much.
“don’t run” zuko holds you, forcing you to sit still. “take it, i know you can, just one more for me? yea?” his voice muffled while he inserts his finger and tightens his grip on your legs.
your moans get louder, and is soon reduced to short whines after his long finger soon finds that mushy spot. “mmh fuck..” you sigh, eyes closing out of intense pleasure.
when zuko adds another long finger of his, the more your soft whines intensifies. you clench around his digits, already feeling your release building again.
“zu.. zuko-mph, i’m about to,,” you gasp, feeling the way his sucks get more intense, and how his fingers start pumping increasingly more faster than a few seconds before.
the only sounds that fill your room is the excessive plap plap plap from your sopping hole getting filled by his fingers, your sweet moans, and his deep groans when he feels you clenching around him.
zuko lifts from his intial spot to look at your face, his chin covered in your essence. he feels his cock throb in his confines when he sees you expression, fucked out and hazy.
“youre about to cum sweetheart?” he asks, already knowing the answer, speeding up his fingers so his palm smacks against your clit. “soak me baby, give me all of it.”
you clench at his words, and his piercing brown eyes scanning you up and down. after one good massage to your g-spot you finally break, whimpering his name while spewing your cum all over his palm, immediately dripping down his vein ridden forearm.
“good girl.. so good to me” he praises, smirking while removing his hand from your insides and observes his hand, before giving it a good lick from his elbow to his fingers, while keeping eye contact.
you shudder at his boldness, and the fatigue from your high. you’re just about to lay down and sink onto your pillow, when you feel something tickle at your entrance again.
You close your legs on reflex, just from them to be met with the same muscular arm from not even 3 minutes ago pinning them down.
whimpers tumble out your mouth before you can even help it. “wait,, im still sensitive..” you croak, voice hoarse from all your whining from earlier.
he laughs at your voice, your so cute. the vibrations sending sparks up your spine.
“let me atleast clean you up, i got you.. it’s okay” zuko reassures, licking a long stripe from your sticky hole to your clit and damn near whimpers at the taste. His thick cock straining against his pants, fuck he’ll need to take care of that after this.
you twitch excessively, clearly overstimulated. one of your hands fly to his beautiful hair and tugs, trying anything to relieve the overwhelming feeling.
zuko groans at the sensation, loving the way your soft tugs sends his eyes rolling back to his skull. "thats right baby-fuck- use me," he moans, deeply inlove with his wife, aswell to the addicting pain that comes from your nimble fingers.
your shouts and whimpers only increase, along with your excessive pulls that has zuko spewing pre cum in his pants. you really do love his hair.
he continues eating you out, slurping obscenely and is obviously pussy drunk.
the only thing you could do is continue tugging on his black locs. his long beautiful hair. fuckkk you love it. and zuko too, of course!
a/n: i watched the new atla movie leaks and omg i had write about zuko he looked good af. this is written around the same time as the movie.
NOTE. Implied that reader and Zuko are engaged, and reader is a woman in this one!
“Relax,” you whispered, nudging his side. “You’re clenching your jaw.”
“I’m not,” he muttered, though he immediately loosened it. “People are staring.”
“They’re always staring,” you said breezily. “But right now they’re more interested in the fresh chili sesame buns over there, I promise.”
Zuko glanced over and saw a baker pulling golden, round buns from a clay oven, steam curling in the last golden slants of sunlight. His stomach made a small, treacherous sound.
You grinned. “Hungry?”
“I’m fine,” he said.
“You’re lying.”
“I’m managing,” he corrected.
You were already pulling him toward the stall, the ring on your finger cool against his arm. The sensation sends a small flutter to his chest, like a butterfly occupying the space without rent. “You’re getting a bun.”
He opened his mouth to protest, but you had already waved at the vendor. “Hi, Auntie Yin! Two sesame buns, please—and an extra one with chili if they’re still warm?”
The older woman squinted, then lit up with recognition. “[Name], you’re back! And you brought your prince again.”
Auntie Yin's husband cleared his throat. “Isn’t it Firelord, technically—”
“Pfft,” Auntie Mei waved him off with a flour-dusted hand. “Not when you’re standing in my bread line, young man.”
You laughed, leaning into Zuko as you accepted the little bundle of warm bread. “You see why I come back here?”
Just as he was about to hand in some coins, you had stopped his hand mid-way. He looked at you with a small pout, definitely confused.
“Zuko, no.”
“But—“
“We’re going to fight over this, so no.”
“I don’t like arguing with you,” he murmurs.
You pat his hand solemnly. “I know,” you say. “So I’m paying. End of story.”
He didn’t answer anything else until you raised the bun for him to take the first bite. It was crisp on the outside, soft and buttery in the middle, with little black sesame seeds clinging to his lips, the spice just right to not overpower the actual buttery taste. He closed his eyes briefly.
“I remember this,” he said. “I used to sneak out with my uncle, and we’d get these. He used to say—” His voice caught slightly, swallowing with a pleased nod. “—he used to say the best food in the Fire Nation was always on the street, never behind palace walls.”
Your smile softened.
“He was right.”
You wandered deeper into the market, weaving between stalls draped with silks, lanterns, and every kind of fried thing imaginable. People bumped into each other without apology, children shouted as they chased each other with little wooden dragons, and somewhere nearby, a flute player added a gentle melody to the thick scent of roasted peanuts and smoke.
Zuko tilted his head slightly. “You know all of them.”
You shrugged. “Grew up here. Before my family moved to the coast, we lived two blocks down.”
“Wait, really?”
“Mhm. That stall with the yellow lanterns? That used to be where I bought pickled plums on my way home from school. And that guy—” you pointed to a tall man flipping meat over a roaring fire—“used to give me extra sticks if I said please and didn’t rat him out to his wife for snacking while he cooked. Kind guy, really. Just had a habit of snacking, not that I can blame him because they're really good.”
Zuko looked at you with something like awe. “You never told me any of this.”
“I like keeping some mystery,” you teased, passing him a skewer of fire-grilled mushrooms glistening with glaze. “Try this one. You used to like mushrooms, right?”
“I still like mushrooms.”
“Then don’t make that face and eat it.”
He bit into it, reluctantly. The glaze was spicy, sweet, and smoky all at once. He blinked. “Okay, fine. That’s—really good.”
“Told you.”
You two kept walking, you pausing every so often to wave or chat or haggle for something small—an herbal tea, a dumpling wrapped in banana leaf, or dried fruit you tucked into the folds of your sleeve for later. Zuko stayed mostly quiet, watching you, feeling the tension in his chest unwind inch by inch. Your laugh was infectious, the kind that made other people smile without realizing it. More than once, he found himself smiling too, caught off guard by the sound.
At one point, you dragged him over to a table surrounded by children and old men playing tile games.
“[Name], my girl!” one of them called, holding up a tile. “Still cheating at dragon tiles?”
“Only when you let me win,” you said with a wink.
Zuko stood beside you, bemused. “You’ve played dragon tile in public?”
“She won in public,” one of the elders cackled. “Took my whole snack allowance for the week.”
You handed over a few coins with a mock-guilty face. “Here, I owe you for that.”
“Isn’t there a law that states it’s illegal to play mahjong in public?”
...
"I don't know, is there?"
Before he could dwell on the thought for too long, you had already been ushering Zuko to the next stop. “You’ve been in more street fights than I have.”
“You’d be surprised what people will bet when they think a girl in ribbons doesn’t know what she’s doing.”
“I think I married a con artist.”
You gave him a pleased smile. “Took you this long to figure that out?”
You rounded a quieter corner of the market as the last of the sun dipped behind the rooftops. Lanterns glowed in the gathering dusk, and music trickled through the air. You led him to a little bench tucked between two carts, one selling sticky rice and the other spiced nuts. You flopped down with a sigh, tugging him beside you.
For a while, you two just sat.
Zuko leaned back, watching the lanterns sway in the breeze.
“This was… good.”
You bumped your shoulder against his. “You don’t always have to be Firelord, you know.”
“I kind of do,” he said, but it was quiet.
“You kind of don’t. Not with me, at least.”
He turned to look at you. “I don’t think I ever realized how much I missed this kind of quiet.”
You hummed. “That’s what I’m here for. To remind you.”
Zuko hesitated for a moment, then rested his hand on yours, lacing your fingers together, his finger idly playing with the ring on yours. It's nice, he thinks, just being with you like this. The market was bustling around you, but for a moment, it all faded—just a man and his beloved, full of street food and soft lantern light, sharing a bench and a memory and the kind of peace he was still learning to let himself have.
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NOTE. Implied that reader and Zuko are engaged, and reader is a woman in this one!
“Relax,” you whispered, nudging his side. “You’re clenching your jaw.”
“I’m not,” he muttered, though he immediately loosened it. “People are staring.”
“They’re always staring,” you said breezily. “But right now they’re more interested in the fresh chili sesame buns over there, I promise.”
Zuko glanced over and saw a baker pulling golden, round buns from a clay oven, steam curling in the last golden slants of sunlight. His stomach made a small, treacherous sound.
You grinned. “Hungry?”
“I’m fine,” he said.
“You’re lying.”
“I’m managing,” he corrected.
You were already pulling him toward the stall, the ring on your finger cool against his arm. The sensation sends a small flutter to his chest, like a butterfly occupying the space without rent. “You’re getting a bun.”
He opened his mouth to protest, but you had already waved at the vendor. “Hi, Auntie Yin! Two sesame buns, please—and an extra one with chili if they’re still warm?”
The older woman squinted, then lit up with recognition. “[Name], you’re back! And you brought your prince again.”
Auntie Yin's husband cleared his throat. “Isn’t it Firelord, technically—”
“Pfft,” Auntie Mei waved him off with a flour-dusted hand. “Not when you’re standing in my bread line, young man.”
You laughed, leaning into Zuko as you accepted the little bundle of warm bread. “You see why I come back here?”
Just as he was about to hand in some coins, you had stopped his hand mid-way. He looked at you with a small pout, definitely confused.
“Zuko, no.”
“But—“
“We’re going to fight over this, so no.”
“I don’t like arguing with you,” he murmurs.
You pat his hand solemnly. “I know,” you say. “So I’m paying. End of story.”
He didn’t answer anything else until you raised the bun for him to take the first bite. It was crisp on the outside, soft and buttery in the middle, with little black sesame seeds clinging to his lips, the spice just right to not overpower the actual buttery taste. He closed his eyes briefly.
“I remember this,” he said. “I used to sneak out with my uncle, and we’d get these. He used to say—” His voice caught slightly, swallowing with a pleased nod. “—he used to say the best food in the Fire Nation was always on the street, never behind palace walls.”
Your smile softened.
“He was right.”
You wandered deeper into the market, weaving between stalls draped with silks, lanterns, and every kind of fried thing imaginable. People bumped into each other without apology, children shouted as they chased each other with little wooden dragons, and somewhere nearby, a flute player added a gentle melody to the thick scent of roasted peanuts and smoke.
Zuko tilted his head slightly. “You know all of them.”
You shrugged. “Grew up here. Before my family moved to the coast, we lived two blocks down.”
“Wait, really?”
“Mhm. That stall with the yellow lanterns? That used to be where I bought pickled plums on my way home from school. And that guy—” you pointed to a tall man flipping meat over a roaring fire—“used to give me extra sticks if I said please and didn’t rat him out to his wife for snacking while he cooked. Kind guy, really. Just had a habit of snacking, not that I can blame him because they're really good.”
Zuko looked at you with something like awe. “You never told me any of this.”
“I like keeping some mystery,” you teased, passing him a skewer of fire-grilled mushrooms glistening with glaze. “Try this one. You used to like mushrooms, right?”
“I still like mushrooms.”
“Then don’t make that face and eat it.”
He bit into it, reluctantly. The glaze was spicy, sweet, and smoky all at once. He blinked. “Okay, fine. That’s—really good.”
“Told you.”
You two kept walking, you pausing every so often to wave or chat or haggle for something small—an herbal tea, a dumpling wrapped in banana leaf, or dried fruit you tucked into the folds of your sleeve for later. Zuko stayed mostly quiet, watching you, feeling the tension in his chest unwind inch by inch. Your laugh was infectious, the kind that made other people smile without realizing it. More than once, he found himself smiling too, caught off guard by the sound.
At one point, you dragged him over to a table surrounded by children and old men playing tile games.
“[Name], my girl!” one of them called, holding up a tile. “Still cheating at dragon tiles?”
“Only when you let me win,” you said with a wink.
Zuko stood beside you, bemused. “You’ve played dragon tile in public?”
“She won in public,” one of the elders cackled. “Took my whole snack allowance for the week.”
You handed over a few coins with a mock-guilty face. “Here, I owe you for that.”
“Isn’t there a law that states it’s illegal to play mahjong in public?”
...
"I don't know, is there?"
Before he could dwell on the thought for too long, you had already been ushering Zuko to the next stop. “You’ve been in more street fights than I have.”
“You’d be surprised what people will bet when they think a girl in ribbons doesn’t know what she’s doing.”
“I think I married a con artist.”
You gave him a pleased smile. “Took you this long to figure that out?”
You rounded a quieter corner of the market as the last of the sun dipped behind the rooftops. Lanterns glowed in the gathering dusk, and music trickled through the air. You led him to a little bench tucked between two carts, one selling sticky rice and the other spiced nuts. You flopped down with a sigh, tugging him beside you.
For a while, you two just sat.
Zuko leaned back, watching the lanterns sway in the breeze.
“This was… good.”
You bumped your shoulder against his. “You don’t always have to be Firelord, you know.”
“I kind of do,” he said, but it was quiet.
“You kind of don’t. Not with me, at least.”
He turned to look at you. “I don’t think I ever realized how much I missed this kind of quiet.”
You hummed. “That’s what I’m here for. To remind you.”
Zuko hesitated for a moment, then rested his hand on yours, lacing your fingers together, his finger idly playing with the ring on yours. It's nice, he thinks, just being with you like this. The market was bustling around you, but for a moment, it all faded—just a man and his beloved, full of street food and soft lantern light, sharing a bench and a memory and the kind of peace he was still learning to let himself have.
Summary: Working as Wasuke Itadori's personal assistant wasn't all that bad. You got paid well, the hours were reasonable, he wasn't a complete asshole like most CEO's were. But there was a catch, and it came in the form of his charismatic son that trouble always seemed to follow. Or maybe he was the problem? Just don’t say you weren’t warned about him.
genre: modern au, 18+, forbidden romance (?), jin and sukuna are twins, smut, angst, fluff, crack & all that good stuff
warnings: explicit smut, graphic depictions of violence, mentions of drug and alcohol use, profanity, more will be added bc this is sukuna were talking about
a/n: 8.8k words that I hope my family never sees! cw: blood and violence, attempted violence towards reader, sukuna brought a knife to the function (non sexual), explicit smut, cunnilingus, marathon sex, rough sex, overstimulation, mentions of whipping, degradation, creampie, spit kink, a couple threats here and there
Work went back to normal.
For a bit.
It was incredibly peaceful the following week after the gala, mainly from the fact that Sukuna hasn’t been there. He was off on a business trip to London, to “persuade” potential investors into whatever Wasuke wanted them to do.
It was probably more like blackmail, but whatever works for that fucking family.
You spent the entire weekend worried, unsure of just how awkward it would be between you too, or if he was going to skip that and go straight to being an asshole again. The latter was terrifying given how he was never actually rude to you in the first place, he was more like a little gnat that wouldn’t fly away no matter how many times you swatted at it.
But your worries eased over after he sent you flowers the night before going back to work. He even had a little note attached to it.
Apology flowers.. I really don’t know what to apologize for, maybe call me and let me know? -S
Insufferable, but you admit it was also kind of cute... and then you felt bad all over again. What exactly would you want him to apologize for?
Dancing with him? He asked and you said yes. Making out with him? You liked it, even though you really shouldn’t have. You still want to punch him in the fucking face for having a girl on his lap, right after you left him, so maybe it was that.
Yeah, that was it. It’s not that surprising though, it’s Sukuna. He fucks with peoples lives fun, always finding little ways to use them to his advantage– you see it nearly everyday at the office.
Treating the world like it’s his own little chess board and he’s the player.
Even after giving your number to Ken, who still hasn’t texted you, you thought you’d felt like you settled the score. Not that there was much of a score to settle anyways, because again, you walked away from him– yet you still didn’t want to speak to him, so he never got that call from you.
Which sorta pissed him off, mainly because he got the notification that you did receive them. It made him wonder if you threw them away or something, which would’ve been a waste, those roses looked really nice on the website.
He’s cooled off a lot though in the past week– partially from his trip to London, mainly from the recording he has of blowing up Ken’s car, that he's watched multiple times throughout the it.
He gets it, he really does– you’re scared. Understandably so. You’re thriving at work. Aside from him at the moment, you get along with everyone. Seems like you have a decent personal life too.
Not that he would know, you never tell him about yourself.
You’re convinced that he’s going to royally fuck up your whole entire life– harsh, but he fucking gets it, it wouldn’t be his first time doing that to someone, nor will it be his last.
So for now, he just has to be a little more patient, and a little more persistent. He has to find a way to light a fire under your ass, without you realizing he’s the one holding the fucking flame.
Which is fine, right? Not like he has bad intentions anyway.
—
“Are we fighting right now?” Sukuna's serious when he finally asks you, with both his hands planted on your desk.
“No?” You grimace at him.
“I’m having a hard time believing you right now.”
“Well believe it,” you say, not doing a very good of a job reassuring him with the scowl on your face.
He has a new and very pretty assistant working for him, and you can only guess why he got one.
To spite you.
You quickly let it go at first, because it wasn’t any of your business, but it didn’t stop there. He's constantly telling her to ask you for help whenever she needs it because he doesn’t have the patience to sit there and give her step by step instructions. In his eyes, she’s a grown woman and can do it by herself, but his tasks and requests are ridiculous and nearly impossible, so she’s at your desk daily because of it. Maybe even multiple times a day, coming to you with random questions like, “where’s the slushie machine?”
And you have to politely tell her that there is no slushie machine, Sukuna wants her to go to the 7/11 that’s a 30 minute walk away to grab one, and somehow keep it from melting on the walk back.
You feel an oncoming headache just thinking about it.
“There’s nothing to be mad about,” you add, still not sounding very convincing.
He pushes himself off the desk, standing back at his full height. “Alright. How come you never called me then?”
You roll your eyes, he’s like a fucking leech, hard as hell to get off of you. “Because it’s not work related. Now if you will excuse me, I have to get back to organizing these documents and you’re gonna make me late for my lunch if you keep taking up my time.”
“I can edit your clock in hours, you can even take an hour lunch,” he offers, more so to see your reaction– you look pissed.
“No,” you snap at him. Then a thought comes up, and you reach for the phone on your desk.
“What’re you–”
“Hi, security?”
“No, st–” he scrambles to grab the phone from you. He successfully grabs it though and promptly hangs up, before looking at you like you've lost your god damn mind.
He didn’t think you’d go that far.
“Really? You’re that mad you’re gonna call security on me?” he loudly whispers at you.
“I'm not mad. And it was your dad told me I could if you bothered me too much," you reveal, loudly whispering back. “Now get the fuck out.”
“Fine,” he begrudgingly says before making his way out of the office that wasn’t even yours.
“Thank you,” you sing out, watching him leave your view, probably back to bossing around his timid little assistant.
Abusing actually, apparently he went off on the poor girl for getting his coffee order wrong on her first day. It was funny watching his plan to make you jealous backfire on him– not only did it just make you not want to talk to him even more, but now he was stuck with someone who couldn’t live up to his nearly-impossible expectations. It was funny, until it wasn’t. You passed by his office yesterday and saw her cleaning one of his expensive pens with a q-tip. Now you just feel bad and are considering giving her the number to a labor attorney.
On the bright side, it’s Friday– Wasuke’s letting you leave work early today and you’re grabbing drinks with Mariko tonight. She was quick to say yes to hanging out when you texted her earlier in the week, but insisted on going to a club rather than a cafe.
“Mr. Itadori?” You knocked on his door before opening it. “I’m headed out now.”
“Okay, sounds good. Good work today,” he gave you a smile and nodded. “Oh, wait.”
“Yes?”
“I saw you talking to Sukuna earlier, what did he want?” he asks, the concern behind his question ever so apparent.
“Oh.. that.” Think, think, think, think, fucking think. “He asked if I could train Myra, his new assistant.”
Sukuna would be better off hiring a hitman instead of a corporate assistant, they had a better chance at making the impossible happen.
“I can see why he asked you, but I don’t think there’s anyone in this world that could appease that boy’s demands,” he says with a disappointed sigh.
“I don’t think so either, Sir,” you suppress a laugh.
“You know he had that poor girl clean the windows in the breakroom the other day? We have cleaners that do that weekly.”
“I saw her cleaning one of his Lamborghini pens with a q-tip yesterday,” your lips quirk into a smile as you began talking shit about him. “Her eyes were red and swollen too– looked like she just got done crying.”
You both laugh at that– not at her tears, but from how utterly ridiculous his requests were, you both knew he was just messing with her at this point.
Your boss palms his face as he tries to contain his laughter. “He’s a fucking monster.”
“He’s definitely something,” you refrain from telling your boss that Sukuna learned that behavior from him. Akio shakes like a fucking chihuahua if Wasuke does as much as glare at him.
But unlike his son, Wasuke’s actually nice to girls from what you’ve experienced and seen.
“Anyways, I was just wondering. You can go now, enjoy your weekend.”
“Thank you, Sir. Enjoy your weekend as well!”
“Bitch," Sukuna mumbles under his breath, making Myra flinch.
“Me?” she timidly asks.
“No, not you,” he says flatly, turning off his earpiece and throwing it in one of his drawers. “Did you finish your to-do list today?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“Okay, great.” He pulls out a stack of papers and drops them on his desk. “Here’s your work for the weekend. Lucky for you, you can go home early today to get started on them.”
Her eyes light up at his sudden generosity. “Really? Thank you so m–”
“Get lost," he cuts her off, spinning his chair around to face his mini-bar to pour himself a drink.
“Okay!” she says, not too bothered by his brashiness as she's mostly used to it by now.
He spends the next hour powering through emails, the scotch he poured himself made doing so a thousand times easier. At one point his dad comes in, trying to scold him over the way he treats his assistant. It's only been a week, but he’s heard enough about it. He’d rather him have an affair with her rather than hearing about him basically hazing her as if she were a frat pledge.
But Wasuke lost the argument when Sukuna offered him some scotch. His old man never could turn down a drink.
Before he knew it, it was already 5:00 pm. He left his desk the way it is. usually he wouldn’t do that and cleans up after himself, but he has an assistant now. She can clean that shit first thing in the morning on Monday, after she picks up his coffee.
Only thing that's on his mind at this point was getting to Suguru’s at 9:00 so he could finally brush off the week he's had.
—
In typical Sukuna fashion, he gets there at 9:45. Then there was Satoru, got there at 10:30. Choso was probably the most annoyed, he's been there since 8:00, but decided not to say anything for the sole purpose of just wanting to have fun tonight. He got dumped last week and wants to fucking forget about it.
Sukuna gets annoyed around 30 minutes in. Choso’s sulky attitude wasn’t doing it for him or anyone else, so he offers him nearly the entirety of what’s inside his little clear to-go bag. To no one's surprise, Choso clears it all in under 20 minutes because he’s fucking depressed.
At least now everyone’s in a good mood.
The music’s loud, bass bouncing off his own chest as he leans back in the V.I.P area. Thank god he became friends with Suguru, who’s the owner of all the clubs he goes to– this seat’s always available for him.
He only likes clubs for this reason. If he didn’t have the option to be separated from everyone else on the dance floor, he’d probably never step foot in one, he hates crowds. All the drunk, sweaty people bumping into him, yuck. Even just looking at the sea of them gave him headache, he’d never want to be stuck in the middle of that.
“Hey,” Satoru nudges his shoulder. “Look to the far right.”
“The fuck are you talking ab–” after a few seconds of searching for whatever the hell Satoru was talking about, he sees it– the smile that’s reserved for literally everyone except for him, apparently. “Oh.”
His friend laughs after seeing the realization kick in. “That’s your dad’s assistant, right?”
“Yeah. Fuck's she doing here?” he asks, but it’s more to himself, so Satoru doesn’t respond to that.
It only starts to make sense when he sees you’re with Mariko– who he’s seen around many times aside from the gala planning, she works with Suguru a lot when coming up with different events and parties to promote his businesses.
He’s also pretty sure they’ve fucked before, multiple times, but that’s not of his business.
“Want me to see if we can get her kicked out?” Satoru asks, quickly pulling him out of his thoughts.
“Don’t fucking do that,” he responds in a threatening tone, making his friend throw his hands up in defense. Satoru wouldn’t have suggested it if he knew it was like that. “Where’s Suguru?”
“I dunno,” Satoru says. “Why?”
“I need him to do something for me.”
“Like?” He pushes for more of an answer, rather than just ‘something’.
Sukuna mumbles something rude as fuck under his breath before answering, “I want some of the security to look after her.” She doesn’t notice the people that are staring at her right now.
Satoru doesn’t push further for an explanation, and goes to find Suguru. Not because he also feels the same urgency to protect you, but because he wanted to add how much of a simp Sukuna was being without even noticing.
—
Mariko’s more fun than you thought she’d be.
She came over to your apartment at first to pregame and when she saw what you were wearing, she yelled at you to wear something sluttier. So now you’re in a strapless mini-dress, taking more shots than you should be tonight.
But the shots were all spaced out, drinking water in between each one so you were more buzzed than drunk.
“I’m gonna go to the bathroom,” you turn to say to her.
“What?” She yells, trying to cut through the loud music.
“I said I’m going to the bathroom!” you yell back. “Will you be okay here?”
“Yeah! Do you want me to go with you though?”
“No, I'll be fine, just save my spot!”
“Okay, call me if anything happens though!”
You say okay and give her a thumbs up, you don’t think you’ll need help though, she said she knew the owner and that his clubs were safe.
For how busy it was tonight, the bathroom wasn’t that full so you were out of there in less than 5 minutes. Right before you turn the corner to exit the dark hallway, strong arms come up behind you– one wrapping around your waist, while a hand covers your mouth to muffle your screams. It all happened so fast, you didn’t even get the chance to start screaming or yelling until after you were dragged outside.
“What are you doing?! Let go!” You try to pull away from the guy but his grip on your wrist just gets tighter.
“Just shut up,” he continues to pull you. You nearly choke on your own words when you see he’s leading you to a group of 3 men, who are clearly waiting for him.
“What are you doing?” You hear someone call out from behind you. The man scoffs and turns around, he doesn’t know the guy, but you do.
It’s Sukuna and he’s oddly calm right now. There's no sense of urgency in his demeanor right now, he was just asking a simple question, like you would when asking someone for directions.
“Mind your fuckin’ business,” one of the 3 men tell him.
“She is my business,” he simply says as he begins to walk towards all of you. “Hand her over.”
“Tch. Jus’ some rich boy livin’ off his daddy’s money,” he spat out. “Get the fuck outa here before I beat your ass and take those chains too.”
Sukuna bursts out laughing, it kills the guy's self-esteem. He starts asking him what the fuck was so funny, more times than you can count, and Sukuna just laughs even harder because he sounds a little more defeated each time he asks.
He’s never gotten his ass beat before and genuinely wants to see it happen.
He was able to throw the man off with his reaction, enough for you to get out of his grasp and run behind Sukuna.
“You're not wrong," he begins to taunt him, after finally containing his laughter. "So fuckin' rich that I could make you disappear and nobody will ever know what happened to you. I'd be mad about that if I were you, too. "
You began to tug on the back of his shirt, hoping that it would maybe make him let it go since you were safe now. You two were close enough to the exit door that you could make a run for it. It was a 1 vs 4, it didn’t matter how strong he might be, there was no way he could win. He reaches back, putting his hand on your stomach to gently nudge you back– which you do. You did not want to get caught in this.
“C’mon bitch, hit me— beat my fuckin’ ass,” he throws his arms out and says, challenging all four of them.
It all happened so fast.
The first man that lunged towards him was knocked out immediately, it disappointed Sukuna since he wanted to do a little more to him, but quickly moved on to the 3 conscious ones.
They got a couple punches in, but you could tell Sukuna let it happen, because he spits blood onto one of their faces and laughs about it. He then grabs one of them by the neck and hurls him at the other, knocking them both out.
Sukuna pulls out a switchblade at the last one and begins swinging it at him, but not actually trying to cut him. He’s toying with him, making the man dance around him as he tried his hardest to avoid contact with the blade. Sukuna eventually grew tired of it though and tripped him, then gets on top of him.
Blood starts spraying everywhere as he begins beating him with the butt of the knife, making sure not to kill the guy. His only goal was for him to remember this night, and how he beat him within inches of life.
He’s screaming and begging for his life, and Sukuna seems to enjoy it because he starts landing even harder blows.
At one point he throws the knife to the side of the alleyway and orders you to grab it, just in case one of the 3 wake up and take it– you listen to him of course. He feels some skin on his knuckles tear, but he kept going, Adrenalines buzzing throughout his body, he can’t feel a fucking thing right now.
He can barely hear anything either with the ringing in his own ears, and it takes him a moment the process that you’ve been pleading for him to stop.
“He’s not awake anymore, that's enough!” you're begging him at this point.
He takes a second to think about that, punches the man underneath him square in the face one last time, then stops.
“You done?” A guy with stark white hair sticks his head out the door and asks, he then shoots you a smile, as if you both weren’t in the middle of fucking crime scene.
“Yeah,” Sukuna grunts, getting up from the man who's fallen limp, give or take, 5 minutes ago. He turns to you and can’t help but notice you haven’t moved, or looked away from the 4 bodies scattered throughout the alley. “You okay?”
Physically, yes. Mentally, no. “Are you?”
“Aw, she’s worried about you,” Satoru annoyingly cuts in, you both ignore him.
“Yeah, m'fine,” he says in response, examining his hand as he opens and closes it.
Mariko also comes running out, with Suguru following right behind her since he was the one who found her and told her. She’s another person in this situation that's acting way too calm over what just happened. It makes you think that maybe you were the crazy one here for the way your heart was still racing against your chest.
“We need to get you to the hospital,” you say, taking his hand in yours. “You might need stitches.”
He chuckles at the concern, “no I don't. You're free to nurse me back to health if you're so concerned, though.”
“Can you fucking serious right now? You’re hurt!”
“I am, got a first aid kit at home if you think it's that bad. I'll take you home after.”
“What about Mar–”
“I can take her home.” Suguru cuts in, with his overly zen smile. He’s not fooling anyone with that fucking smile, you can just feel the crazy radiating off of him too.
Satoru says something about a clean up crew and you block it out, not wanting to hear or learn about what he could possibly mean by that. You just say goodbye to Mariko and give her a hug before quietly following Sukuna to his car.
He hands you his keys and you look at him with confusion, “Why are you giving me these?”
“Because you’re driving, look at what happens when I close my fist.” He gives you a demonstration and the dried blood cracks off, making blood trickle down his fingers once more.
“You’d said you’d drive me home.”
“I said I’d get you home. Once you’re done patching me up I’ll get you an uber home,” he says before opening the passenger door and plopping down in the seat.
He hears you mutter something under your breath, but it’s obviously not that serious since you got in the driver's seat and started the car. He puts in the directions for you and off you went.
The ride back to his house was quiet. He leaned back in his seat and closed his eyes the whole time, if he wasn’t hurt you’d be calling him a passenger princess by now. He’d probably like it too.
His penthouse is gorgeous, to no ones surprise. You can tell when someone hired an interior designer and decorator, the sleek furniture paired with the custom accent wall panels shows that he did exactly that.
“Want some food?” he asks from the kitchen, you realize you’ve been gawking at his paintings for way longer than you should.
You take a second to think about it, “no, I’m good. I’ll just eat when I get home”
“You should really stop doing that,” he remarks, grabbing a second plate for you.
“Doing what?”
“Denying yourself of the things you want,” he easily answers, popping one of the plates into the microwave.
“I do not do that.”
“Yes, you do.”
“No, I don’t.”
“Yes, you do,” he looks you in the eyes when he repeats himself, “I heard your stomach growl in the car. You should be saying yes when you’re hungry and someone offers you food. It doesn’t make my life any easier or harder feeding you.”
The microwave beeps and he rips his gaze off of you.
“Sit down, eat,” he orders you in a bored tone, setting the plate down on the kitchen island. “I’m gonna get the first aid kit.”
After finishing your food, you have him wash his hand again to get the dried blood off. You slightly cringe at the sight of the wound, it looked like he was punching on pavement rather than another person face. He really should’ve gone to the ER to get stitches, you're certain it'll take forever to heal. He takes it all like a champ though, not flinching or making any noises when you disinfect it and apply healing ointment. His compliance made it easy, you were wrapping the bandage wrap around his knuckles in no time.
Once you're done fully wrapping it, you take a second to inspect it, trying to see if it was too tight or too loose. It was perfect. “How do you feel?”
“Like brand fuckin’ new,” he sarcastically says. “Shoulda gone to nursing school, you’re a lot gentler than all the nurses I’ve had in the past.”
“I’m sure I’d get tired and start being rough with my patients too if I had to deal with someone as annoying as you all the time.”
“Ouch,” he clicks his tongue. “Shouldn’t be talking to the injured like that.”
“Shut up,” you giggle. “You said it yourself, you feel brand fuckin’ new.”
“What was your major anyways?”
“Communica–” you were quickly cut off, Sukuna immediately snorted at that. “Why are you laughing?”
“A bachelors in communications and you can’t even text or call back,” he grins at you.
“That’s not how it fucking works.”
“Yes it does,” he continues to argue with you, still laughing and your dominant hand slightly tingles at the thought of smacking him.
You shake your head, maybe one of the guys he fought hit his head or something and you just blocked it out. It really was traumatizing watching them scream for their lives and gurgle on their own blood.
“You’re making it really hard for me to feel bad for you right now.”
“Alright, alright– fine, I’m done.” He says, but it sounds like he’s trying to convince himself that instead of you. “I’ll leave you and your shitty communication skills alone–”
“Stop!” you snap at him, but you’re also having a hard time staying serious too.
He says some other stuff under his breath but you block him out while closing up the first aid kit, you also grab the plate you ate from and put it in the sink. You almost feel bad doing so, the sink was spotless too. His entire penthouse was cleaner than a hospital.
“Can I ask you something else?” he’s more serious when he asks.
You turn around to meet his gaze, you’re not sure if you can hold eye contact with him, he’s kind of daunting when he’s serious. “What’s up?”
He’s leaning over the counter with his elbows on the counter, looking extra contemplative while you lean back against the counter.
“Why haven’t you told me to back off yet?”
“Are you seriously asking me this right now?”
“Yeah, I am– I send you flowers and I get nothing but dead silence, not even a fuck you.”
“Isn’t no answer still an answer?”
“I thought that was the case for a second but then I saw the way you looked at me when you took my hand. You’ve been mean as fuck to me too, you’re that mad over me hiring an assistant?”
“I’m not mad at you for getting an assistant, I’m mad at why you got one,” you admit.
“So you are mad,” his eyes slightly twinkle at that, further proving that he is in fact fucking crazy.
“You hired her because you wanted to make me jealous! You can’t just fuck with peoples lives when you can’t get what you want– and on top of that, you had some random bitch on your lap after you fucking kissed me.”
“We could’ve kept going,” he began to argue back. “You’re the one that ran off, acting like you committed a fucking crime.”
“It’s obviously not a crime but it’s fucking wrong!” You’re yelling and pointing your finger at him now.
“Who cares if it’s wrong?! Don’t fucking stand there and say you didn’t like it.”
“It doesn’t matter how I feel!”
“Like hell it doesn't," he bitterly laughs under his breath out of frustration. "That all that matters!”
“Not with this,” you say, gesturing at both the of you. “It’s just not something that'll end well."
You don’t even sound mad at this point, you sound like it hurts you to say it and he catches that.
“So what? Do you want me to leave you alone? Or do you want me to keep chasing after you because it somehow makes you feel good? ‘Cause I can do that but that’s fucked up too, don’t act all innocent when you’re playing your own little game.”
“I’m not doing anyth–”
“Alright, say it then. Say you don’t fucking want me, and that you want me to leave you alone for good,” he says, slowly walking up to you. “I’ll delete your number, I’ll stop trying to talk to you. It’ll be like I don’t exist.”
“You’re so fucking dramatic, Sukuna,” you roll your eyes and look away, but he stops you, gently grabbing your chin and making you look up at him.
“And you’re full of shit,” he mutters.
Your words get caught in your throat trying to come up with something to say. Once again, he has you backed into a corner. Except this time, you don’t fear what he might do, it’s the other way around. Especially when he’s looking at you softly as he is now.
“It’s getting late.”
He takes a deep breath and rests his forehead against yours, “I know, aren't you tired?”
There’s a double meaning in his words and you don’t miss it– you are tired.
“Very,” you nearly whisper. He’s so close you can smell the alcohol on him, with the same expensive cologne he always wears, one you probably couldn’t even pronounce. “So what now? You’re just not gonna let up on me?”
“Not when you don’t want me to stop,” his lips lightly brush against yours. “C'mon, tell me to stop.”
You instead close the distance between you two, pressing your lips against his, for no reason other than it just felt right.
Just like the last time.
He swiped his tongue against your bottom lip, deepening the kiss, more aggressive this time. It was like he was trying to get as much as he could before something got in the way, like last time. But that’s not happening, it’s 1:00 am and you’re completely alone in his penthouse. The only thing that could stop this right now is you, but your hands are already sneaking under his shirt, touching his bare chest. His blood rushes from it.
He pulls your hands away from his chest and has you wrap them around his neck before picking you up. Your legs are wrapped around his waist and for once in his life, he has nothing to say– his only thoughts right now we're: the room, get in the fucking room, take her clothes off.
He kicks the door open and makes his way to the bed. You two continue to make out in between the process of basically ripping each other's clothes off and when he gets to your panties his jaw almost drops.
“You’re this wet already?” he asks, running his fingers through your folds, in complete awe. You feel your cheeks heat up once he brings his fingers up to his mouth to get a taste. “Fuckin’ sweet– don’t get all shy on me now, sweetheart.”
“Fuck, sorry,” you nervously say. He has you in a vulnerable position, your naked body's splayed out in front of him while his boxers are still on. They don’t do a very good job at hiding the third leg under there either, which makes your heart race even more.
“Don’t be sorry,” he smirks and spreads your legs further apart. You brace yourself, clenching around nothing for a moment as the anticipation builds in your chest. Yet nothing could prepare you for the way his tongue glides up your slit and circles around your clit. He pulls a moan out of you almost immediately.
He grabs onto your hips while he begins to lap at you, like he was starved. There was no adjustment period, he pulls on you and grinds you against his mouth while he goes to fucking work on you with his tongue. You're left grabbing onto the sheets with both hands because it was all you could fucking do. He wasn’t letting go of you anytime soon, you tasted too good and the sounds you were making just made his cock throb even harder.
He slides two of his thick fingers into your cunt and starts curling in, all while sucking your clit. You’ve never been this wet before and the obscene squelch from just pumping his fingers in and out of you was the proof.
“Gonna cum for me?” he asks after feeling you squeeze around his finger even more than you already were. You nod, but it’s not enough for him. “Words, babe. Use your fucking words.”
“Y-yeah,” you sputter out, the pressure building inside of you getting to be too much.
“Yeah?” he asks in a low rasp, continuing to fuck you with his thick fingers. “Let's see it then, princess. Show me how good my fingers are making you feel."
That’s all it really takes, his tone and his shamelessness, for a mind shattering orgasm to completely rip through you. You ride through it while he talks you through it, telling you how good of a job you did and how fucking good you taste.
Your mind is still hazy afterwards, trying to catch your breath and come back to reality, when he fully takes everything off. You had every right to be nervous, his dick is huge– long and thick. It’s so big it doesn’t even slap up onto his torso when he takes his boxers off, its so heavy it just hangs.
“You're kidding me.” You thought you said it in your head, but you didn’t and he chuckles.
“I'm not,” he responds way too proudly. He doesn’t offer any words of assurance either, because they’d be lies.
You absolutely were going to struggle to take it, you both knew it at this point with the way you were looking at him. The best he could do is apologize in advance for tomorrow's soreness, but he doesn’t think you’d want to hear that either.
He spits on your cunt and then admires the way it drips down your already sopping folds, all while getting his tip nice and wet from running it up and down them. He makes sure to add a little more pressure when he glides over your clit and watches the way your lids slowly drop each time he does it.
The whole time your chest begins to fill with a mix of excitement and fear, wondering if you’ve gotten way ahead of yourself, he’s big enough to rip you apart.
But there was no going back, you realized that when he pins your knees to your chest— putting almost all of his weight on you while he begins to finally push his tip in.
“Fuck, you're tight,“ he breathes out, nearly clenching his jaw from the grip you have around him. “Look at how good you’re taking me. Watch.”
And you do, he’s so big, but you’re so fucking wet that he just slides right in, filling you out more than anyone ever has before. You feel so warm and soft wrapped around him and he’s holding on to the self control he needs to make this enjoyable for you.
You let out a small gasp once he fully bottoms out. You feel so full and he’s in so deep, it feels like he’s in your guts.
He knows it’s never easy taking him, so he eases up on you, just a little— all while he begins to give you slow, deep strokes. Fucking you nice and slow for those first couple minutes.
“You’re so fucking big,” you nearly whine, doing your best to relax because clenching around him wasn’t going to do you any good. He sees you biting your lip and holding your breath, trying to be good for him while he works your tight little pussy open.
“I know,” he murmurs, trying his best to sound empathetic.
He holds back on teasing you for now, though he would agree so himself that you in fact have gotten ahead of yourself. He sees it in your face, you’re almost in disbelief right now, maybe even in a state of denial over the fact that this was happening right now.
Good luck to you, he thinks to himself, snapping his hips against you a little harsher, earning a sudden cry from you. It was like music to his ears, so he does it again, and again, and again, until your whines and the sounds of consistent smacking begin to fill the air.
Before you know it, he has your legs thrown over his broad shoulders. The new angle letting him pound into you even deeper, bullying his tip against your sweet spot until you were crying and seeing stars at the same time. His nails sank into your hips as he began pulling you in, making you meet each and every single one of his thrusts.
“Kuna– w-wait,” you say, grabbing on to his wrists, trying to keep yourself together.
“What’s wrong?” he asks tauntingly. He leans forward and cages you in, not letting up on the pace he set. “Want me to stop?”
“N-no, I–”
“That’s what I fuckin’ thought,” he murmurs in your ear, you can feel him smirking against it. “C’mon, let go for me– you wanna cum again, right?”
“Yeah,” you choke out and it goes straight to his fucking ego. “Fuck– yeah, I do.”
“Beg for it then,” he nearly stills and you want to fucking kill him for it. “Beg for it ‘n say my fuckin’ name.”
You don’t at first, but he’s determined to get you to do it, so he pushes forward, going even further and letting his cock just throb inside of you. You’re left desperate, wanting him to move so fucking bad— it was torture.
“Please, Kuna." A shit-eating grin forms on his face from the little nickname. “I want it so bad– please making me fucking cum,” you begin to babble out, followed by more please’s and yes’ when he finally does pick up the pace again.
“Fuckin’ knew it,” he groans. “Knew you wanted me just as much as I wanted you. You’ve thought about this before, huh?”
“I have,” you shamelessly admit. “I really fucking have– fuuuuck, right there!”
“Yeah?” He goes harder, faster. “You play with yourself thinking about me?”
He’s hitting your cervix, you’re losing your losing. “I do.”
“What a pathetic little bitc—”
His rude remark was cut off from a loud slap! across his pretty face, it catches him off guard, yet you feel him get harder because of it. Unfortunately for you, Sukuna’s somewhat of a masochist– that slap went straight to his dick.
He’s looking at you the same way he did when you yelled at him that one time.
Your eyes grow wide and begin to stutter, “I-I’m sor–”
“You’re sorry?” he cuts you off with laugh. “So am I– you’re never getting rid of me.”
He starts pounding into you even harder, not even trying to hide his own moans at this point because he’s almost there with you. He leans back and starts rubbing circles on your clit, making you arch your back, nearly crying from how good it all felt. Your mind turns to mush and the worlds slowly starts to fade away.
Sukuna doesn’t stop with the names and continues to degrade you– calling you a filthy fucking slut and a cockdrunk whore.
At this moment, you were a cockdrunk whore. You swear you’ve never cum so hard in your life, let alone from the filthy words coming out of his mouth, yet here you are– toes curling, crying out his name while he fucks you through it. He calls you a good fucking girl for the way you gush around him, not stopping or letting up ‘cause now it was his turn.
His breathing gets ragged, holding on to your waist while his thrusts begin to get sloppy. “You on birth control?” He just barely remembers to ask.
Your breath is still caught in your throat and you nod yes in response.
“Good,” he says before crashing his lips into yours. It doesn’t take long before he’s pumping you full of his cum, letting out the sexiest, guttural groans because of it.
When you finally came to, you both looked wrecked, panting heavily, trying to to catch your breath. You look guilty. He thinks it cute and presses a soft kiss on your forehead.
“Come here,” he says, getting off of you and offering you his hand. You barely did any work but you're still sore and your legs are shaky.
Any normal person would assume he’s taking you to the bathroom to get you cleaned up, your inner thighs are sticky and his cum’s dripping out of you. Instead, he just leads you to the corner of his massive bed, where he sits and takes a second to admire your body.
“What are you doing?” you ask with a soft laugh.
“I’m not done with you,” he murmurs and turns you around to face the massive mirror in the corner of the room.
You watch as he spreads his legs, instructing you slightly part yours too with his already hard cock in hand. You weakly ease yourself back down on his length and try to look away, but he grabs your jaw and makes you continue to look at the mirror.
“You look pretty like this,” he says, resting his chin on your shoulder, hooking his hands under your knees.
“Like what?”
“A fuckin' mess.” His tone’s darker this time, whispering in the shell of your ear. “Watch me fuckin’ ruin you.”
And you do, because you have no other choice— he puts you in a full nelson and starts drilling into you. You didn’t think he could get any deeper, but he does. The sight is profane, you didn’t think he’d fit at first and now he’s fucking you with reckless abandon.
He does it with ease, this is light work for him. While you’re a crying mess, he’s chanting your name, telling you how good your pussy feels, gripping around him like a fucking vice. He doesn’t miss a beat in the way he effortlessly snaps his hips up, pumping his thick cock into you.
It’s fucking intense, you want to close your legs but your knees are pinned to the sides of your chest. Your head’s locked in place and you can’t even look away. All you can do is cry and scream his name as he continues to pull yet another orgasm out of you.
You don’t know how many it’s been since he put you in this position, but each time you squirt it just makes it easier for him to slide in and out of you. He drops your body down on to his length when he snaps his hips up and the rooms filled with the obscene sounds of loud, wet slaps and your moans, that were becoming more and more strangled.
He’s fucking ruining you and you’re loving every second of it– every thrust, every time the head of his cock hits your sweet spot.
He fucks you for hours.
He fucks you in multiple positions.
Backshots, with him smushing your face into the bed.
In the air, with your arms wrapped around his neck while he held your hips, slamming you down on his cock over and over again.
On your back, sprinkling coke in between your tits and snorting it off before you even get the chance to say anything. He smirks at your disbelief and fucks the shocked look right off your face.
Pulling your hair.
Spitting in your mouth.
He taunts you, telling you he’s gonna fuck you in the ass “this hard” and laughs at the way your eyes widen and pussy clench in horror. Watching you try to reason with him in between moans, with your tits bouncing around, is amusing– he pounds into you harder so you’d shut the fuck up because he wasn't actually going to do it. He sorta liked seeing you scared though, and nudged his tipped agaisnt the wrong hole a couple times.
He praises you, then degrades you, then praises and degrades you, calling you his good little slut.
At one point he grabs his belt off the ground and uses it to tie your wrists together, but not before making you lay over his lap so he can lash you with it a couple times for fun, finger fucking you in between each one to cancel out the sting.
He punishes you, then rewards you by making you cum and filling you up with his own. He treats his own cum like it’s lube throughout the night, and fucks it back into you each time it seeps out. By the end of it, he's pumped so much of it into you that you’re sure you’ll spend the entirety of tomorrow with it leaking out.
He’s nasty, but there’s something so sexy about it– he’s unapologetic, he doesn’t have a care in the world, he feels amazing and makes you feel even better.
You were in such a daze at the end that you didn't even remember falling asleep, but at one point you woke up with a large clean t-shirt on with your face nestled into the crook of his neck. You had a leg thrown over him while he was rubbed your back rather affectionately. You went back to sleep shortly after though, after he threatened to fuck you again if you didn’t.
Which was a joke, but you were too tired to realize that.
—
You wake up in a dark room the next day. The clock says 3:00 pm and you realize it’s only dark because Sukuna had left the curtains closed. You look at the side table to find a note that reads ‘just take one’, referring to the bottle of prescription grade painkillers that was next to the tall glass of water.
You take one, but honestly consider two. You feel like you got hit by a fucking truck– your arms were sore, your legs were sore, your throat was sore. The culprit hears the pills clatter around inside the container and decides to come to see how you were doing.
He strides into the bedroom, with nothing but a pair of boxers on and a smile plastered on his face. He looked at you like a little boy looks at his presents on christmas morning, and it makes you roll your fucking eyes.
“Mornin',” he says, sitting on the side of the bed.
“Morning,” you mutter back. You two blankly stare at each other for a moment, wondering what the other was going to say. “This was a—“
“I’m gonna stop you right there,” he scoffs and holds a hand out, before he starts running his mouth. “You’re in my bed, wearing my shirt, taking my painkillers. You don’t get to sit there and go on this whole spiel about how much of a mistake or accident this was. I gave you plenty of opportunities to back out, you didn’t even tell me to stop when I had my—“
“Ok, ok!” you cut him off, rubbing your temple from the headache you felt coming on. “We’re not doing this again though.”
“Okay,” he ends up saying, not believing you one bit— not when you’re actively trying to avoid the sight of his chest and abs. “Now get up, I’ll make you something to eat.”
It’s his own little way of thanking you for putting him back together and letting him tear you apart, all in the same night. He takes a couple steps forward towards the door and notices you haven’t gotten up and turns around.
“Can’t move huh?” he asks, lips twitching as he tries his hardest not to smile.
You shoot him a glare for that, but he still ends up carrying you out of the room and sets you down on the couch, handing you the T.V remote the way he always does with Yuji, before heading to the kitchen to whip you up something decent.
Around 10 minutes later, he ends up bringing back a prosciutto and cheese croissant. Fancy. It doesn’t surprise you either, given how complicated his coffee order was, and you’re thankful for it. He actually made a better sandwich than most cafes did too.
“I should probably call an uber soon,” you say after some time. All you two were doing was watching tv, and you didn’t wanna overstay your welcome, even though you found lazing around with him to be oddly comforting.
He hums in response to that at first, continuing to knead on your thighs and calves since your legs were thrown over his lap. “I can take you home.”
“You sure?”
“Mhm,” he nods, slowly slipping his hand up your thigh. “Want me to eat you out before we leave?”
“I’m sorry, what?“ It takes you a minute to process his question with how casual it was.
“I said,” his hand continues to trail up and begins to part your thighs for you, “do you want me to eat you out before we leave?”
“I’m still sore,” you barely protest.
“Let me kiss it better then”
After fully getting you to part your legs, he leans down and starts to rub his thumb over the boxers he also ended up putting you in. You were already wet too, what a pleasant surprise for him.
“Thought we weren’t doing this again,” you say, sounding needy despite the pout growing on your face.
“I know,” he murmurs, putting a little more pressure over your little bundle of nerves, pulling a little sigh out of you– eventually pushing the shorts to the side, being met with your glistening pussy. “At least let me clean this up– c’mon, one lick.”
“You’re an idiot," you giggle, and then you let in a sharp breath because he spreads your folds to ‘get a better look’.
He lets out a low curse, thinking about how easy it would be to slide his dick in you right now. You’re getting wetter by the second.
“Okay... fine.”
“To one lick?” he looks up and teases you, starting to rub your clit with his thumb again.
“No, eat me out. This is the last time though,” you remind him.
He takes the boxers off of you and pushes your knees up to your chest. “The last time.” He mindlessly repeats after you.
Hours pass in between the moment he dipped his head down in between your legs and when he got you in the shower, where you two obviously fucked again for the nth time.
He has you against the wall and holds your leg up. The sound of the water trickling from the shower head does nothing to muffle the sound of you two enjoying each other's bodies. He fucks you slowly this time, dragging his cock through your walls, while rubbing your clit with his free hand.
You two are just lost in each other at this point, he’s resting his forehead against yours, taking in each other's sighs and moans.
You can tell he’s getting tired now, he’ll probably fall asleep after this. “M’gonna cum again,” he rasps out.
“Me too,” you sputter out— still overstimulated from the first one. You don’t even know how many it's been today anymore, he’s been flooding your brain with oxytocin for hours.
“Hold on to me,” he says, bending down to grab the back of your leg that’s been keeping you up.
He doesn’t speed up, he keeps going at the same leisurely pace with your legs around his waist, until he fills you up once again.
It was around 9:00 pm when you two inevitably fell asleep. Neither of you asked if you wanted to stay, it kind of just happened— gently pushing you onto the bed, telling you to “hang out for a bit.”
Minutes after he put on something to watch, the two of you were passed out. Except this time his face is buried into the crook of your neck with a leg thrown over you.
Content: As a kid, all Sukuna ever really wanted was to be around you. He did just that for 10 years, only to spend the next 7 years wondering why you just stopped picking up the phone one day || MDNI, angst/comfort/smuț, porņ with plot, friends to enemies(?) to lovers, uncle!sukuna, mentions of depression and low self esteem, sukuna's tongue is pierced, so is his 🍆, nıpple sucking, humpıng, óral (f receiving), fıngering, squırtıng, dacryphılia, matıng press. word count: 15k
Sukuna isn’t the type to hold on to promises, especially one made in elementary school. But, he never would’ve thought that you’d break it like that.
The promise? That you’d be each other's best friends until the day you died. Looking back, it might be a little dramatic, but you were eight years old— all eight year olds are dramatic.
Exactly how did you break said promise?
You ghosted him.
You fucking ghosted him.
You were friends for over a decade and the moment you went off to college, poof— gone! You stopped calling, stopped texting, deleted all your socials. It was as if you had never even existed and that you were just a figment of the man’s imagination.
Now that’s dramatic.
He’s texted and called you multiple times, no response. He’s asked mutual friends, they never got a response either. It got to a point where he had finally had it and texted your mother. You could only imagine how hurt he was when she told him you were doing just fine, and not that you were missing or in a coma.
He’d never admit it, though.
The years came and went. The hurt he once felt inevitably dulled. Yet, you always managed to linger around in the back of his mind, like a little ghost haunting him.
To this day, he still has no idea what he did wrong. You may have ghosted everybody, but he wasn’t just anybody. If anyone deserved an explanation, it was him.
He still cares for you, sorta, but it’s been so long, he’s not sure if he’d even want to reconnect with you. Not with how you just dropped him like that.
. . . . . .
“Are you excited?”
“No,” you respond a little too flatly for Ieiri, who shoots you the look right after. “Ugh, I’m sorry. It’s just been forever since I’ve seen everyone.”
She sighs, redirecting her attention back on the road— there’s not much to look at. Most people stay home on gloomy Sunday afternoons.
The GPS says you’re nine minutes away from your destination, making you remind yourself once more to relax. Though, you really wish you could be one of those people staying in right now. Cuddled up on the couch, watching a movie.
Ieiri taps her finger on the steering wheel. “It’s like what I said—”
What didn’t she say?
She held you hostage on the phone for over an hour last weekend, threatening and bribing, and then threatening you again if you didn’t go with her to Kento’s surprise birthday party.
You thought you had a good argument at the time.
“Do you realize how annoying that sounds? Kento doesn’t even like surprises, could you imagine how irritated he’d be if I just randomly popped up, too?”
“If you were Satoru? Yes. You? Doubt it. If anything, he’d probably like the distraction from it.”
“Yeah– probably,” you murmured.
“Can you please get out of your fucking head for once?” she scoffed. “Yeah, it’s been years since you’ve seen everyone, but it’s not like it’s because of a falling out. I don’t know where you got this weird idea that they hate you now because of it. It was them who told me to bring you!”
“Who’s them?” you stubbornly responded.
“Suguru, Satoru, Yuki, Choso— even Toji said something about bringing Megumi so you could see him.”
As much as you’d love to meet his kid, it would also be another reminder of all the years that’ve passed— how everyone moved on with their lives. Getting married, buying homes, having children, starting families.
The most you’ve done is get the job. You’d include the condo if you actually got to enjoy it, but it’s been a year since you bought it and you haven’t even bothered furnishing the place despite all the money you've saved up for it. The last thing you want to do after work is look at a screen and make more decisions. Deciding between color palettes and aesthetics, deciding on what decor and accents you want— it all sounded exhausting. Hiring an interior designer was an option. Except, you barely want to talk to a stranger, let alone work with one.
It’s too many decisions to be made for someone that didn’t want to make them. You often wonder if you’ve simply just become someone that couldn’t make them.
You’re well aware of the things that are wrong with you, but it didn’t make it any less surprising. You, paralyzed by choices and options?
The people who knew you professionally would laugh. Hard. Any sense of certainty that could be felt in the air almost always emanated from you. You were decisive. Sharp as hell— honed to perfection. Someone that was more than capable of a task as menial as filling a space full of items they liked.
You know what you like, don’t you?
No, not really.
You are sharp, there’s no doubt about it. It’s what your boss favors you for, and sure, one could say you’re valuable to the company, too. It’s a nice feeling for a while.
Then you realize there is quite literally nothing more subjective than the value of something.
Luckily, you are very useful. It was simply a fact, and every single one of your quarterly reviews solidified it. A coworker, or god forbid a client, could spend an entire hour talking shit about you, and they’d eventually reach the point where they’d have to backtrack with a little ‘well’ or ‘however’, before giving credit where it was due.
The devil works hard and you stole his pitchfork. Ripped it right out of his hands, because apparently, you needed it more than him to become the youngest portfolio manager the company’s ever seen.
Who cares about the value of something when you need it? Mr. Yaga claims to hate black tea, but leave him out in the desert long enough and he’d easily drink gallons of it.
Having you at the company isn’t a matter of life or death, there’s thousands of others out there that are more than qualified for your role. More than half probably had resumes twice as long as yours, too.
But for Yaga, there is no guarantee that day to day operations would run this smoothly, ever again.
You may be a little blunt. At times, impatient. But in a world full of sexual harassment allegations and sleezy managers abusing their power, not once has there ever been a formal complaint made against you. You’re not always like that either, you’re great with the clients and stakeholders.
It’s a talent, really— remembering all the personal details people tell you, like childhood stories, the places they’ve vacationed to, a spouse's birthday month that was briefly mentioned months ago. It makes people feel special.
It was very handy, too. Especially in the case where the company might deal with someone that isn’t likely to give them their hard-earned money or signature. Your job was to either sweet talk or gaslight. No arguing needed.
Yaga may have not preferred you at first. You were essentially a kid compared to the people that applied for the position.
The plan was to let you down easily, tell you to keep working hard and you’ll eventually get there. You were already lucky enough to have your foot in the door as an employee.
Yaga had a list of goals he wanted to reach before his retirement, though. Any of the other candidates would’ve helped with that, but none would've given him the opportunity to make a second list and cross that off as well.
The decision took months.
In that time, he realized a few things.
One, he spent his entire adult life playing it safe, which is an obvious sign of fearing growth. You’re not sure who taught him that, but at least he realized it was okay to start over and try something new. It was like a rebrand for him and he embraced that the “new” him craved more profit and welcomed different approaches.
The different approaches being, finding more aggressive people because they bring in the money quicker.
He never saw you as aggressive, though. He never saw you at all, actually. It wasn’t personal, those under 30 usually come and go, so he didn’t see much of a point in remembering names. What he did see, when he finally opened his eyes, was efficiency.
You were straight forward in a way that saved time, had an air about you that screamed “don’t ask me how my day’s going or what I have planned for after work”, yet approachable enough for work related questions. Stellar reports, received every quarterly and year-end bonus. Sharp.
Making you one of the managers meant he could wield you like a weapon, now you are the one he uses the most. You had the salary to prove it, yet no time or energy to enjoy it.
You’re respected. The young interns, the girls in particular, look up to you more often than not. Eyes bright and filled with ambition. Romanticizing everything, from how much coffee you drink, all the way to your style that they labeled as “effortless”. They’re not wrong, it is effortless— always some variant of trousers, a t-shirt, heels, and a long coat. They’re never planned, yet they somehow always manage to work thanks to the lack of color in your wardrobe.
You overheard your lack of jewelry and unpainted nails being appreciated once for how “clean” you look. All you could think of was the girl that used to do her hair and paint her own nails at one point. Except for the ones on her right hand. She saved that job for her best friend who surprisingly had a steady hand, despite complaints flying out of his mouth the entire time. Even on the days he gave in and painted his own nails black, he’d find something to be grumpy and complain about.
It was always you choosing whose house to hang out at, which movies to watch, what places to grab food from. He was a big brat whose favorite answer to most questions was an inaudible ‘I dunno’ from the way he’d mumble it. So, you always led the way.
Now it’s you mumbling that same exact ‘I dunno’ when you’re all alone.
You’re tired. Worn out. If you were a blade, you end each day dull and chipped. Nobody sees it, not even those young girls with all the time they’ve spent studying you, blinded by their own dreams and aspirations to be just as important, not knowing the difference between being valuable and useful.
Maybe it’s better off that way.
Who were you to try to burst their bubbles when you never had dreams or aspirations to begin with? Your eyes were never as bright as theirs— not as a student, not as an intern, and definitely not as a new hire.
You never had a spark to begin with, what makes you think they’d eventually lose theirs?
Maybe you were the unlucky one here.
You were the one whose head went under water after one bad semester, after all. Even now, years later, it still feels like you’re stuck in the deep end while everyone else has moved on.
Toji chose to get married and have a kid.
You can’t even choose yourself on most days.
“You have arrived at your destination.”
Fuck. You have a hard time believing the GPS was that loud when it was telling Ieiri which exit to take and where to turn.
Her lips thin into a reassuring smile as she makes the final turn into the apartment building’s parking garage, and you fail to return it as you take a deep breath. Ieiri doesn’t say anything this time, figuring you’ll probably just have to see everyone's excitement for yourself to realize this wasn’t a pity invite. It’ll settle half of your nerves.
The other half should settle itself with time and a drink. Several drinks, honestly. She did the best she could with telling everyone that what you pulled during your second year of college was 100% a you thing and to not talk about it unless you brought it up. Which you probably won’t— everyone will understand. No one wants to talk about being in a dark place when they haven’t fully left it.
One moment, you’re sitting in the passenger seat with your seat belt still buckled. Next, your chest is tightening as you watch her open the door to Satoru’s apartment. There’s already chattering, which stops once she announces your guys’ arrival.
You barely get the chance to look around before Suguru’s peaking his head out of the kitchen to see if you really did show up and lets out a laugh once he sees that you did. It was light and airy, the kind that’s accompanied by the warm feeling that you should get in your chest when seeing an old friend.
He’s obviously changed, it’s been 7 years. Yet, he never lost that quality that managed to make people a little more comfortable.
“Hey stranger.”
Your lips thin into a shy smile, “Hey.”
“Well?” Suguru asks, holding his arms out. “I know it’s been ages but there’s no need to be shy.”
“Sorry,” you murmur, stepping forward and accepting the hug.
He lets out another laugh. “Don’t be— it’s nice to see you.”
“Where’s mine?!”
You easily recognize the offended, slightly childish tone. You slowly turn your head around to see a slightly less lanky Satoru. Aside from getting some much needed meat on his bones, he doesn’t seem to have changed much. He’s still as unserious as ever, still wears sunglasses indoors like an asshole.
Ieiri stood back the entire time, sipping on a drink she had already managed to make, patting herself on the back as she watched her little plan run smoothly: Show up early and let you build some confidence from awkwardly greeting the old friends you shared together one by one.
It’s funny, you told her that they’d eventually move on to talking to the friends they made after you, but they all seemed more interested in circling back to you, whether it be handing you a shot or introducing you to a new face.
If there was one burden she wishes she could take from you, it’d be the burden that has you walking through the world as if you were everyone’s last choice.
Today should be enough to prove that.
“Yeah, no— at this point, fuck Nanami and his birthday. This is a better surprise.” Satoru throws an arm over you, slightly swaying from the shots he’s already taken. “Pfft– he doesn’t even like his birthday. I’m sure he’d be happier to see her, too—”
“He’s coming up the elevator,” Suguru cuts him off.
“SHIT! EVERYBODY SHUT THE FUCK UP AND HIDE,” Satoru suddenly yells, as if he weren’t just talking shit just seconds ago.
No one would be surprised if Kento heard him yelling at everyone like that, and given how hesitant of a knock there was at the door. The blonde probably already knows there’s something up.
Suguru goes to open the door, and the moment he opens his mouth to greet him, there’s a loud wave of people yelling ‘SURPRISE’ behind him, with Satoru saying it a split second sooner than anyone else did.
Kento’s eye slightly twitches. Half surprised, half irritated. He fucking hates surprises and knows that’s the only reason why Satoru decided to throw him one. Before a complaint can leave his mouth, Ieiri hands him an old fashion. He tries to speak again, but gets interrupted once more when she tells him who’s here.
At first he scoffs, already having enough of people of fucking with him today.
“No, I’m serious!” she swears, looking around trying to see where you were at, eventually catching a glimpse of your head in the kitchen. “There she is— come say hi.”
Ieiri grabs his wrist and pulls him through the living room and into the kitchen, where you, Yuki, and Choso were talking. She turns back to look at Kento, who’s already surprised by her rare display of excitement, as she gestures towards you.
“See? Surprise!”
“Yeah, surprise!!” Yuki says right after.
“Holy shit.” Kento rarely curses, but finds himself unable to come up with better words. “It’s been ages!”
“I know!” You try to sound more apologetic, but ultimately fail from the nice buzz you had going on. “Happy birthday!”
And for once, he’s a little less uptight about it when he gives you a hug and says his thanks. It was a nice surprise, he had to admit. If only Satoru didn’t have to ruin the moment with the way he barged into the kitchen with some stupid, frilly party hat in hand, begging Kento to put it on.
“I said no!”
“C’mon, Nanamin!” Satoru whines, taking a step forward each time the blonde takes a step back. “You’re not getting any younger.”
“I don’t want to get any younger— I’m a grown man, and so are you. Maybe you should start acting like one.”
“I do! I’m just fun,” he continues to pester him, ignoring everything Kento mumbles under his breath.
You end up excusing yourself to use the restroom, somewhat bummed you couldn’t stick around longer to watch them bicker some more. You’re sure it went on for a while, though, unaware of how it was cut short when Shoko grabs Satoru by the arm.
He hisses at how tight of a grip she has on him, fingers digging into his skin as she pulls him aside.
“What is your problem?!” he asks through a clenched jaw.
“Sukuna’s here?!”
“Yeah?” He tries and fails to free himself from her grip as he answers. “I thought it’d be a nice surprise!”
She looks at him like he’s stupid, nails continuing to dig into his flesh. “A nice surprise? He fucking hates her. I wouldn’t have brought her here if I knew he was coming!”
“Ow ow ow— No he doesn’t?! Do you actually believe that?!” he groans in between each sentence.
“Yes! He says it every time someone brings her up!”
“Ow ffuck! You know how dramatic he can be sometimes— fuck, Shoko, please, you’re breaking skin.”
“You deserve it!” she responds in a clipped tone, despite finally letting go.
“Jesus Christ— you can’t just assault people like that,” he pouts, rubbing his arm. “It’ll be fine! It’s been years, he can’t hold a grudge that long.”
. . . . . .
Sukuna can absolutely hold a grudge that long.
Except, he was staring at said grudge like some fucking loser, and had to remind himself that it was still alive and well.
At first he thought you were just one of Satoru’s new friends as you walked through the living room, shyly making your way around everyone, but then you just so conveniently looked up in his direction.
His eyes nearly widened.
And yours actually did, looking as guilty as you should be.
The longer you two stood there, looking at each other from across the room in shock, the guilt you had in your eyes started to fade. He was sure everyone else welcomed you back with open arms, and in turn got irritated because you probably thought he’d do the same. So before you could even think to take a step in his direction, he wiped the shock off his face and replaced it with a look that’s able to make even grown men turn around and walk the other way.
Which is exactly what you did, stomach slowly twisting into a tight knot as you immediately began to replay the death glare he gave you over and over in your head.
Sukuna didn’t stay long and left shortly after. Not without pretending like he didn’t know you when he said goodbye to everyone, including Kento, who he never even got the chance to say hi to in the first place.
Shoko didn’t think that was enough to have a complete 180 in your mood. She then realized you were already quiet before that. You also decided to stay in the kitchen, where there was a wall in between you and him.
So yeah, she blames Sukuna.
“Are you sure he didn’t say anything to you?” Ieiri asked one last time as she pulled up to your apartment building.
“Nah— my stomach just started to hurt. I don’t drink alcohol that much.”
She still didn’t believe you, not with how big of an asshole Sukuna can be, which is why a certain someone got an earful over the phone the moment you got out of the car. He barely got a word out while she threw nothing but insults and threats so specific his way, that he had begun to believe them.
Of course Satoru felt bad! He didn’t want you to disappear again for another seven years and have it be all of his fault. So, he gives Sukuna a call, continuing the cycle of abuse started by Shoko.
The phone rings three times. Sukuna never finishes saying hello before Satoru tries to grill him. “Alright, what did you say to her?”
“Who the fuck are you even talking about right now?”
Sukuna knows exactly who he’s talking about, Satoru can just see his face crinkling in fake disgust over the accusation because he’s just a bullshiter at the end of the day.
“Shoko thinks you said something to her— she said she was acting all weird and shit when she came back from the bathroom.”
“She’s already fuckin’ weird,” Sukuna scoffs.
“So you did see her before you walked into the kitchen to say bye?”
“Yeah, I saw her. Doesn’t mean I said anything to her though, you fuckin’ moron.”
Satoru sighs and rubs his temple, knowing he probably looked at you like he wanted to skin you alive.
“What? Is looking at her a crime now?”
“With the way you look at people? It should be.” It’s clearly not the first time Sukuna’s managed to simply offend someone his face with the way it comes out as a complaint on Satoru’s end.
“Why do you even care?”
“Don’t turn this back around on me?!”
“Then quit trying to grill me over the way I look at people. Seriously— she comes back and you all are fuckin’ babying her like she’s some victim. It’s not that serious.”
“Well Shoko—”
“Shoko can fuck off.” Sukuna cuts him off. “Don’t bother me about something stupid like this again. If she can’t handle someone looking at her in a way that she doesn’t like, maybe she should stay home and lock herself in her fuckin’ room.”
“I– she already did!” he tries to come to your defense. “Shoko won’t tell me much, but she was going through it for years. She probably still is! She doesn’t go out at all. I tried telling you before and you wouldn’t listen.”
There’s a long pause before a disappointed sigh could be heard. Satoru could tell it was directed towards himself instead of you. “She was going through it, so she locked herself in a room for years?”
“Not literally,” he scoffs. “Look, all I know is she was dealing with depression and now she’s all anti-social because of it.”
“She should’ve fuckin’ said something then.”
“Well, she fuckin’ didn’t.”
“That’s–”
“If that’s an opinion, it doesn’t matter,” he cuts the man off, starting to grow impatient. Satoru has adhd— the severe, annoying kind. There’s only so much he could handle before getting the violent urge to scream out random noises. “I’m just gonna give you her number so you can talk to her if you want. Who knows, she might even open up to you more since you were the one closest to her.”
“I don’t want her n—”
“YES YOU DO.” Satoru yells, leaving Sukuna more appalled than annoyed. “I just sent it. BYE.”
click.
Sukuna glares at his phone for a moment as if it were an extension of Satoru, convinced he was dropped as a child or something and just doesn’t know it. He knows he definitely wouldn’t tell his kid if he dropped them as a baby.
He relaxes his tensed brows and shakes his head as he pulls up the number Satoru sent. For some reason, he expected it to be your old number that he still somehow knew by heart.
He hates that he remembers it.
He also hates that the actual reason why you disappeared isn’t as dumb and selfish as he wanted it to be.
. . . . . .
In the three weeks he’s had your number, he hasn’t tried reaching out. He also hasn’t accepted any invitations to hang out with anyone as a group, despite being told that you were okay with him showing up. Part of it was spite, the rest being him genuinely tired from work.
His old man’s been taking more time off under the guise of letting him ‘take over for the day’. He acts so gracious with it, too, as if Sukuna should be thankful for the opportunity, when really, Wasuke should just fucking retire already so he can hire someone else to take his place as site manager. He’s essentially working two jobs now and when he asked for a raise, that old piece of shit laughed so hard that he damn near coughed up fifty years worth of cigarette tar.
You’d think watching his father nearly hack up an entire lung would be enough to make him quit smoking himself, but that shit pissed him off so bad that he smoked three cigarettes in a row just to calm down before going back to work. It still pisses him off. He doesn’t regret taking $50 out of that old man's wallet on his way out to cover his gas for the day. He honestly should’ve taken more.
It’s been months since he’s gotten home at a decent time. Tonight was probably the worst thus far.
He drags his feet into his apartment and kicks off his boots, heavy eyes landing on the clock that’s two minutes away from 10:00 pm.
The next ten minutes are spent shoveling leftovers into his mouth, followed by a hot shower that was mainly spent just standing there, zoning out as the hot water hit his back. It’s been days since he’s jacked off, realizing it doesn’t even give him the urge, his sex drives plummeted all the way down to hell. He just wants to sleep at this point.
Except when his head hits the pillow, he’s wide awake. It doesn’t help that he ends up scrolling through instagram— there was hardly a point for someone that barely followed anyone to begin with.
There’s not much to scroll through. The most interesting thing being a recent post of Suguru’s night. He absentmindedly looks through them, then pauses at the 4th photo of you and Shoko with your little drinks in hand.
You were barely smiling.
Your lips curved just enough for the camera— nothing like the photos of you from before, grinning and laughing. That’s how he’s always remembered you.
Would it have even made a difference if he told you not to move so far away for school? It’s not like he could’ve known, you never said anything. He thought you were doing just fine and you deleted everything one day and changed your number.
He taps the photo to see who’s tagged. Just Shoko. You still haven’t gotten back on social media, no profile to see what you’ve been up to. All he knows about you is that you moved back to the area after graduation and scored a cozy finance job without telling anyone. The only reason why you got in touch with Shoko again was because she ran into you at some bakery and made you give her your number.
It didn’t even matter if you did have a new phone with no contacts by the time you moved back. You didn’t need to text him or call him, you could’ve just shown up. Sure, he might’ve been annoyed at first, but he wouldn’t have turned you away.
You’ve known each other since 8 years old, you disappeared at 19. That’s his whole childhood right there. You played together, ate lunch together, walked to school together until he got a car, ditched school together. You had your own shampoo and toothbrush at his and would just use his clothes if you didn’t have a spare set with you.
It’s just dumb.
Still thinking about it, that is. It’s been years. It may have been fine to still be thinking about it at 21 or 22, but now it’s just ridiculous.
. . . . . .
You aren’t expecting Sukuna to warm up any time soon. At all, really. You couldn’t blame him for the reaction he had seeing you at Kento’s birthday. If there was one person that deserved an explanation, it was him, and you’re just about seven years too late for that.
He wasn’t the same person you knew. You couldn’t just go up to him expecting that you’d get to have a conversation. A civil one, at least.
It’s been years.
And honesty, it might not even be about being several years too late. He’s a grown man, why would he care about a childhood friend that just up and left?
All there’s left to do now is to stay out of his way. You’re sure his temper’s the same and the last thing you want is to bug him. Hopefully being at a kids birthday party shields you from it in the case that you accidentally do. From what you heard, he seems close enough with Toji to know not to fuck with his sons special day.
It’s not all bad. Toji couldn’t come to Kento’s birthday since his wife and son woke up sick that day, so you were more excited than nervous for today since you’d get to meet them.
This time it was you that picked up Ieiri. You felt a little guilty for being the one that constantly got rides, despite having a running car of your own. Once you two got to the little park in their neighborhood, everyone was already there, including Sukuna, who was stuck having to watch his nephew that you’ve heard about through Choso.
The biggest plot twist of all was probably learning that Jin is now technically Choso’s stepfather. You knew Choso had a teen mom, you didn’t know she was that young, though. You also had no idea how much of a milf hunter Jin was, either.
Jin apparently didn’t know that was Choso’s mother. No one believes him, especially not Sukuna, who still looks at two like they’re a couple of fucking sickos for making him Choso’s step-uncle.
The kid’s name is Yuji, and he looks just like Jin and Sukuna when they were kids. He’s the same age as Toji’s son, who’s turning 3 today. Yuji acts nothing like his father or his uncle. Jin was always quiet and sensitive. Sukuna was sensitive, too, but he was always very vocal about the things that annoyed him. The toddler was more like Gojo, hopped up on sugar and bouncing off the walls.
Sukuna calls out to him like an angry mother at a grocery store, gritting his teeth as he tells the kid to, “get your ass over here, NOW,” all while Yuji pretends not to hear or see him…. up until Sukuna gets up from the bench, which is when the little boy decides to run back to him, whining about how he’s sorry and how he didn’t know.
Megumi’s more quiet and follows Yuji around. He even ran back to Sukuna with the boy, worried that his friend's uncle was going to leave him at the park too, even though his father was at the grill just a few feet away.
Watching the two boys play is adorable, but you try not to look too much in an attempt to avoid making eye contact with the grumpy uncle, which ends up becoming more difficult than you’d imagined. The kid eventually wore him out to the point where he managed to slip out his view.
Yuji didn't go very far.
“...es’cuse me?”
You feel a little tug at your shorts and look down to find an incredibly worried Yuji, who should’ve gone to an adult he knew, but here he was after quickly deciding you were the trusted adult for whatever problem he had.
“What’s wrong?” You crouch down, getting at eye level. “Are you okay?”
“No,” he shakes his head, pointing to his feet. “I donno how to tie my shoes.”
“You don’t?” you ask, sounding just as concerned. “Do you want me to tie them for you?”
He pouts. “Yes, please.”
Your heart melts at his little voice. “Aw, okay.”
Like any other kid, Yuji’s amazed at how fast adults can tie shoelaces, unable to keep up with the strings crossing and looping around each other to create the little bow at the end.
“Yay!” He claps his hands, jumping in excitement. “We can play again, Gumi!”
Megumi thinks to celebrate with his friend, but closes his mouth right after opening it.
Then you’re startled by a scoff made directly behind you. “You make a stranger tie your shoes and you can’t even say thank you?”
The last to freeze is Yuji, who side-eyes him, rather than turning to face him. “Um.. ya I did..”
“No you didn’t?!” The toddler's ability to lie over something so simple amazes and offends the man at the same time. Does Yuji seriously think he’s that stupid? “I watched you lie about not knowing how to tie your shoes and then I watched you try to run off with even thanking her.”
“I donno how to tie my shoe!” Yuji stomps a foot on the ground to prove whatever point he thought he was making.
“Yes, you do— now thank her, before I take your shoes away.”
“Oh no, not my shoes!”
“Yeah. Bye bye, shoes.” Sukuna snorts, clearly enjoying this. “You’re a big boy now, remember? You don’t need them.”
“Yes, I do!” Yuji whines.
“Then have some manners and say thank you.” Sukuna continues to glare at the kid while pointing at you.
“Thank you for tying my shoe,” Yuji tightly grabs the bottom of his t-shirt with both hands and bows at you, then turns to his uncle and starts whimpering. “Don’t eat my shoes, Unkakuna! I need them!”
Sukuna’s even more annoyed now at how specific that was. “Who said I was gonna eat them?!”
“I dunno! You eat everything!” Yuji claims, bottom lip quivering and all, making his uncle's eye twitch in disbelief. “It’s all stuck in your big belly.”
Sukuna’s face drops, as if he didn’t see a 6-pack in the mirror this morning with his own eyes.
“I don't have a goddamn belly,” he scolds him through a clenched jaw, then lowers his tone as he begins to crouch down. “Do you want me to hit your Papa Jin?”
“No!!!”
“Then quit acting like I eat everything in sight, you little shit.”
Yuji scratches the back of his head as he continues to whine, trying to force a couple tears out. Eventually he turns to you. “He’s gonna hit my papa with his big belly.”
“Uh-oh. That's not nice,” you begin to laugh, all while Sukuna grumbles something about Jin being the one with love handles.
“Papa gonna cry,” he claims, continuing to act distraught over the news, trying to get all the sympathy he can from you. “My poor papa.”
You giggle. “I don’t think he’ll hit your papa, though.”
“He’s gonna EAT my papa!” Yuji stretches his arms out, emphasizing how big of a meal that would be for Sukuna. As if it couldn't get any worse, Yuji finds a random basketball and tries to stuff it under his shirt. “Then his belly will be big like THIS.”
“Stop it,” Sukuna snaps, pointing off into the distance behind the kid. “Get out of here before I barbecue you on that grill Mr. Toji’s using.”
“Hey!” Yuji gasps. “You can’t do that!”
“You can barbecue anything when you have barbecue sauce, Yuji.” he informs the kid, then notices a mortified Megumi standing off to the side. “You’re next.”
“DAAAADDDDYYYYYYYY.”
The boys run to Toji at full speed. Yuji thinks it’s a game, but Megumi’s genuinely scared, sobbing as his father picks him. His dad’s obviously confused as to why his son’s crying like someone threatened to kill him. Once Megumi’s able to actually get a full sentence out as he points right as Sukuna.
If Megumi thought he was going to receive any sort of comfort from his father, he was dead wrong. Toji bursts out laughing and doesn’t stop, even when Megumi starts screaming and hitting him for not being more concerned over something so dire.
“Megumi says you’re not allowed to have any cake,” Toji yells out.
“I’m taking Yuji home if I don’t get a slice.”
Sukuna’s response has the two boys whining in the distance.
“NO barbecue me.” Megumi glares as he tries to strike a deal with the most difficult person he’s encountered so far in his short, yet stressful life.
“Give me three slices and I won’t barbecue you.”
“But Unkukuna, you’re belly!” Yuji rounds his arms out in front of him, emphasizing how detrimental those extra calories would be for his physique.
Everyone grows quiet as Sukuna stares him down, wondering who the fuck even taught him that. Whoever it was better pray to god that he doesn’t find out.
“I’m not gonna be your uncle anymore if you keep talking about my belly.”
Yuji reaches out in despair as he screams, “NOOO.”
“No? You don’t want that?” he asks, fighting back a smile.
Yuji throws his back dramatically, shaking his head. “NO.”
“That’s what I thought,” he barks, not bothering to hide how proud breaking Yuji down with a singular sentence made him. “Now ZIP IT.”
“KAY’.”
Yuji looks away for a moment to take a deep breath, trying to calm down, all while sneaking little peeks at Sukuna.
He quickly looks away after seeing that his uncle’s staring at him, then peeks again. It happens several times, yet his uncle hasn’t moved a muscle once as he continues to just look at the boy like he’s better than him.
What kind of a sick game is this?
Naturally, he grows irritated knowing Sukuna is winning whatever game this is, which isn’t fair since he’s already going to have three slices of cake later. Even one slice was pushing it, to tell you the truth. He was too young to put into words why it pissed him off. All he knows is watching Sukuna enjoy good things, that are meant for good people, will never sit right with his spirit.
By the time Sukuna decided to stop staring at the kid as a form of psychological warfare, you had already been awkwardly standing there for quite some time, unsure if you should leave or not. It was either look rude or look too comfortable, neither of which you wanted to come off as.
Sukuna wasn’t mad at you anymore. At least not since Gojo called and told him you were and still are dealing with some mental health stuff.
He wasn’t planning on talking to you today, either, purely because he didn’t believe he should have to apologize for giving someone a harmless look. But then he caught Yuji trying to get your attention and figured it would’ve been fine since 2 minutes with him would make anyone want to choose peace for the next hour.
You couldn’t tell what he was thinking when your eyes finally met his, but at least he wasn’t giving you that same disgusted look you got at Nanami’s birthday.
You weren’t the best at starting conversations outside of work, though, and quickly embarrassed yourself with how bad you stuttered while trying to find something to say, which ended up being an apology for tying the kids' shoe.
In turn, Sukuna looked at you like you were a fucking weirdo.
“What? No, it’s— that’s fine,” he waves a hand, still thrown off by the apology. “He just goes around annoying anybody he can.”
“Oh– don’t worry, he didn’t annoy me. He's adorable.”
You suppress a laugh as he shoots you a look saying he’s anything but that.
“He’s a pain in the ass,” he grumbles, already rubbing his eyes from how tired he is. “We passed around a baseball for an hour before coming here and he’s still running around trying to convince people that I’m a fatass.”
He has to be at least 200 pounds of pure muscle and has the ass of a baseball player, so you neither confirm nor deny the words out of fear that you’d make yourself look stupid again. “He probably just likes your attention.”
“That’s the problem— he’s probably taken 10 years off my life already because of it,” he smiles a little, obviously more fond of the kid that he lets on.
You avert your gaze as you find yourself smiling as well. “His poor parents.”
“They have good life insurance, he’ll be set.”
“Oh, I'm sure,” you laugh with him until it dies down into another awkward silence. You’ve barely looked at him and try not to think too much about it after the realization. Having a conversation with him was surprising enough. Difficult on your end, too, but you pushed yourself. “How’ve your dad and Jin been?”
“Jin’s been good, he’s—” he huffs out a laugh, “you know he went and made Choso his fuckin’ stepson right?” He openly points at Choso, not very worried about getting caught.
“Yeah,” you nod, just as surprised by it, more so by the fact that Choso and Yuji and brothers.
“Well. He’s still going strong with Kaori. Just bought a house,” he struggles to list things worth sharing— aside from the mommy kink, his brother’s pretty boring. Sukuna quickly moves on to Wasuke, who he has no issue talking about. “Old man’s driving me nuts. Says he wants to retire, instead he just takes a bunch of days off and pretends he’s doing me a favor by letting me play boss while he’s gone, so now I’m doing my job and his.”
“You’re working for the company?”
He sighs deeply. “Yeah.”
It pains him to say, remembering all that talk about him wanting ‘something of his own’ when he was younger. Now here he is, set to take over daddy’s company.
“I mean… it’s already there,” you try to offer some words of reassurance, being the one that heard most of the said talk. “All you have to do is maintain it once it’s yours.”
“Exactly,” his tone changes, less ashamed of pulling the nepo baby card. “I’m not tryna work any harder than I should at this point.”
“Does he pay you extra on the days he’s off, at least?”
“Fuck no.” He laughs, even though there is nothing funny about being exploited at his grown age. “Yeah— nope— he works me like a fuckin’ dog.”
Hence why he’s been helping himself to whatever cash is in the old man’s wallet and whatever food he has in his pantry when he visits. He makes good money to begin with, so it’s not like he can’t afford any of it, it’s just the principal.
He’ll take Wasuke’s toilet paper, too.
That old man has one year to either give him a raise or retire completely before couches and T.V.s start to go missing.
“Old man’s been good, though… still kickin’,” he mutters, then stops himself before saying something really fucked up, “What’ve you been up to?”
You shrug as you let out an indecisive hum, knowing you didn’t have much to share. “Nothing really— work usually has me pretty busy.”
He’s well aware of how boring of a life you have, but still tries to push for more details. “Yeah? Suguru says you’re in finance now.”
“Mhm,” you nod, growing shy, “portfolio manager.”
“You spend the day telling people what to do now?” he asks as if he were almost impressed.
“Not really,” you laugh. “A lot of it’s research, reporting, meeting with clients, I— yeah, I mainly just take care of more of the sensitive stuff. If my manager hat’s on, it’s usually just collecting reports from the other managers or figuring out what’s going on with their teams if they’re not performing the way they need to.”
He nearly barks out a laugh.
You look at him with confusion. “What?”
“So instead of managing a bunch of people, you just terrorize their managers?”
“I don’t terrorize them,” you murmur, shifting in place. “It’s their job to make sure that their teams are performing well and if they aren’t—”
“You ask them why they aren’t doing their jobs,” he finishes your sentence with an amused grin. “Then they sit there for the next hour, trying to come up with an answer for that.”
You pause for a moment, wondering if he has to do the same. “Well— kind of.”
You don’t have time to sit there and listen for an hour, nor do you want to. The longest one went just over twenty minutes before you had to stop her.
“Listen, Linda— I,” you stopped to think twice about what you were going to say, “I’m just asking why there’s been a dip in the performance, I really don’t need an entire life story for that. Why don’t we take a few steps back— how has your team been?”
“Well… uhm… well… they…” You nodded, thinking it’d encourage her, and it did, but 5 minutes later she went off course to talk about her failing marriage, again. “And then Dave, he—”
“Is Dave a new hire?”
Her eyes dried right up. “No… Dave is my husband.”
You knew damn well who Dave was, but she was starting to get on your nerves.
“Okay, let’s talk about your team right now… this is about work— Dave doesn’t work here.” You tried your best to be patient with her, but it was like teaching a kindergartener how to self regulate. “I wanna know things like how everyone’s been mentally— are they eating, are they getting enough sleep, are they taking their breaks? Are they having to work through them?”
She didn’t know. She just wanted to give you a sob story so you’d let her off the hook. So, when she mentioned Dave a third time:
“This isn’t working,” you murmur to yourself as you turn to your computer and start typing. “I’m going to make a little worksheet for everyone, including you. Think of it as a peer review. You’ll have one for each team member and each team member will have one for you. I think that’ll be an easier way to get to the bottom of things.”
Instead of excusing herself, she stares at you like a deer in headlights.
“There’s no need to wait on me by the way, I’ll have them emailed out to everyone within the next hour.”
On the rare occasion that you do have to ask performance related questions, you send them the same exact worksheet so they have an idea of what you wanted to talk about— which is the only part you mention to Sukuna. He’d probably accuse you of terrorizing Linda when you know you could’ve been ten times worse.
You’re just glad he didn’t ask about any of the other stuff you had to do.
Sometimes you wished you spent your days in Linda’s professional shoes— god forbid you ever had to deal with a man like Dave. Her job was less demanding than yours. More human. Working with others and collaborating with them must be great in terms of keeping you grounded— normal people, that is.
You wouldn’t consider any of the people you answer to now as normal. The stakeholders, clients, the higher ups, Yaga— they’re all fucking crazy. You couldn’t just pretend like they were normal, you had to match their energy and in some cases, you had to be worse to finish whatever job you were tasked to do, which drove you closer to their territory with each day that passed.
“Do you like it there?” Sukuna looks at you and asks, tone fond and filled with warmth, as if he were proud of you.
In the same moment you realize that you were only fooling yourself earlier when you tried to believe that he hated you.
You wish you could turn back time by just a few seconds to change the subject. You didn’t want to answer a question that he clearly wanted a yes to— you’re sure it’d make him feel better about knowing you chose to spend all those years alone, when you had someone would’ve easily stayed by your side.
You grew stiff, eyes glossing at the question because you hated the real answer to it.
“Not really,” you murmur, almost ashamed to admit it. “That’s kinda how I feel about most things, though.”
It was true. You don’t even know why you’re wishing for a job like Linda’s, you always came off as cold and hardly spoke to others before the big promotion.
He didn’t know what to say to that, he wasn’t even sure if there were any words you could give to someone as apathetic as you sounded when answering. It’s not like he was the type to offer anything encouraging to begin with. Instead, he stayed quiet, comfortable in the silence as he let his own mind run free for a bit.
Just as you were starting to think you made him uncomfortable—
“Did anyone have to drag you here today?” he asks.
“No.”
“So you chose to come to soot sprites' birthday?” he asks, as judgmental as ever.
You smile. “I did.”
He gently rests his hand on top of your head, leaving you with a familiar sense of comfort as he leaned in. “You’re not doing too bad then.”
“Uncle-Kunaaaaaaa!” The man looks up to see his nephew sprinting towards him. “My tummy growling!!”
“This kid’s always coming up with the most extra ways to say things,” he mutters under his breath as he pulls away. “So you’re hungry?”
Yuji slows down the closer he gets, until he’s skipping towards the man. “Yeah. Mr. Toji says he make chicken sticks.”
Sukuna looks at Yuji the way he always does whenever the kid decides to rename something. “You mean skewers?”
“Yeah, chicken sticks,” Yuji nods, confidently repeating himself, because Sukuna was obviously wrong, even though Toji said skewers, too. Both men obviously don’t know what they’re talking about.
The man actually looked to you for help, and given how it’s an issue between a 3 year old rage baiter and a grown man that will make time to argue with a child, you decide to stay out of it.
“That sounds yummy,” you say to Yuji, and you could feel Sukuna glaring at you for not even bothering to call them skewers, too. “You guys should probably grab some before Suguru arrives, he loves chicken and leftovers.”
Sukuna lets out a mixture of a scoff and a laugh since it’s true, but if anyone’s taking those skewers home, it’s him.
Which is why he lets Yuji start to pull him away to get some.
. . .
Getting to talk to you more, after being pulled away from Yuji, hardly counted since it was with groups of other people.
Luckily for Sukuna, your car’s parked right next to his and you’re leaving at the same time he’s trying to get the little brat in his car seat. He’s half asleep and won’t let go— each time he physically tries to pry Yuji off of him, he does this weird muted scream.
He’s about 2.5 seconds away from wrestling this kid when he hears someone.
“Bye.”
It comes off as a little unnatural, but it’s in more of an awkward ‘I don’t know if I should say goodbye to you right now’ way.
Sukuna turns around. “Oh, wait—”
His hand slides into his pocket, only to find it empty, then realizes it’s in the pocket of his jacket. The side where Yuji’s on and won’t leave. You stay in the place the whole time, wondering if he’s aware of how funny he looks grumbling to himself as he checks all his other pockets.
He eventually finds his business card, then rolls his eyes after realizing he’s about to give you a business card, because he’d rather not tell you he already has your number. To add salt to injury, he didn’t even need to pull his phone out, because the goal was to give you his number.
“Here.” He hands the semi-decent card over for you to take, surprised it’s not more broken down since he’s always leaving them in his pockets, even when he’s throwing his clothes in the washer. “You don’t have to of course, but feel free to reach out if you’re interested in catching up sometime over lunch or something.”
“Yeah, that’d be nice.” You look at the card, flipping it over a couple times. “Um… I don’t actually… need this, though.”
He stares at you for a moment, wondering if it was just some pathetic, last minute excuse to turn him down.
“I already have it,” you shyly admit, handing the card back to him as if it were better off going to someone else. “Satoru gave it to me a couple weeks ago. I just wasn’t sure if you wanted to hear from me.”
“Fair enough.” He shrugs, reluctant to say more— he might be down to catch up, but he’s still not apologizing for his face. “Shoot me a text sometime, then. I wouldn’t mind.”
“Yeah, I will.” You smile a little, trying to hide a bit of the excitement that was starting to bubble up. “Alright, well— it was nice seeing you.”
“Yeah, you too.”
. . . . . .
‘You’re not doing too bad.’
It took around 3 months after the words left Sukuna’s mouth to actually start believing them.
It’s not like your life was crazy interesting now. It just slowly started to fill up with things you looked forward to over time. Whether it be hanging out with others or simply sitting in your living room with a latte you took your time making. Your apartment started to feel more like a home with each new addition you added to it. You were nowhere near done, but you found yourself enjoying the process of casually looking through items and randomly falling in love with different ones.
The newest addition was a painting you saw a year ago and decided not to buy, despite how much you loved it. You stood in that gallery for over an hour, convincing yourself that it would never get that much attention from you again once you took it home. You were convinced that it’d find a way to collect dust in a space that felt as sterile as yours, and left it for someone that had a home where it wouldn’t.
You found it again in a consignment store with a big coffee stain on the side of the canvas. The person who ended up buying it probably got rid of the moment it spilled. They didn’t even bother hanging it up, and most likely had it on some counter before the accident happened. By the time you got to it, it was collecting dust with dozens of other paintings leaned against the wall since they weren’t good enough to be hung up.
You paid less than a quarter of it was originally worth, but a part of you thinks you would’ve purchased it for its original price if it meant you got to take it home. You’ve thought about it nearly everyday since you stepped out of that pristine gallery, after all.
Sukuna stared at it for a while before hanging it up. You can’t remember how the conversation started, but he came over and put it up for you after finding out you were going to do it yourself, claiming you didn’t have the right tools. You probably don’t.
It wasn’t until the canvas was up on the wall when he finally asked the question you had been expecting to get after you caught him looking at it funny.
“That brown stuff on the bottom corner is a part of the whole thing, right?”
“Nope.”
He just stood there and continued staring at the damn thing with you, waiting silently for an explanation that he soon realized he’d never get on his own.
“Are coffee stains some new trend I don’t know about?”
He was dead serious. It was almost funny how he couldn’t believe that you’d just buy something that was stained like that.
“Nope, not a trend.”
He continued to stare at you, so utterly confused as to why you want that thing hung up on your wall when you could just walk into one of those art shops and buy a new one. It’s not like you couldn’t afford it, he’s seen some of the shit you own and you’re clearly not bothered by commas on a price tag.
You eventually told him the story. He probably still didn’t get it, but that didn’t really matter.
“How cute,” he says rather boredly, wondering why you couldn’t just tell him that in the first place. “You didn’t buy it for more than 50% of its price, right?”
You shoot him an annoyed look. “I spent almost an entire year sulking over it, do you seriously think the price of it matters at this point? I wanted it.”
“You probably ended up cursing the damn thing so no one else could have it. People don’t usually spill coffee on paintings.” he says, starting to laugh the longer he thought about it.
You don’t laugh with him, but he does catch the proud look on your face as you walk away, just happy to have it. He walks after you with another question in mind, hoping now was an okay time since he always forgets.
“Mind me asking why you’re just now starting to furnish the place?”
You shrug. “I was just always too tired to get out of bed. If it wasn’t for work, I wasn’t getting up,” you remind him. “Too many choices to make, too. I’d get overwhelmed and stop looking for stuff.”
“Yeah, there’s a lotta shit out there,” he murmurs, helping himself to one of the white claws in your fridge.
The can cracks open and he takes a sip, looking over your living room that’s become a bit more filled in since the first time he came over to help you put your couch together. The place was so empty that he automatically assumed you had recently moved in.
He’s been helpful since Megumi’s birthday— at least he tries to be.
It never feels forced, most of the time it’s just him asking if you wanna come along to a place he was already going to, just to get you out of the house.
He also asks how you’re actually doing, a lot— figuring you were just someone that needed some extra support, given how one lonely, difficult semester made you isolate yourself to the point where you started to believe you weren’t worth missing.
Once, he almost asked how you could’ve ever put him into that category. He loved you, both platonically and not platonically. But he never asked, the past is the past and that’s probably just how it is when someone’s spirit’s in the dumps.
He’s far from a therapist and never has any advice to give, but he was surprisingly good at getting you out of your head— pull you back to reality, without the reality check. You’ve obviously had more than enough of them. It’s why he doesn’t bother being harsh with you, at all. Even during the times he’s come off as more straightforward, you don’t feel any judgement or malice behind his words. The last thing he wanted was to say or do something that made you think you couldn’t give him a call.
It’s probably why you’re so comfortable with having him come over and why you don’t mind telling him certain things, like the fact that you spent most of your free time sleeping at one point. He never bats an eye. He just wants to be around you, like he’s always had.
“Summers’ coming up. Getting anything for the balcony?” he asks, nodding in the direction of its doors.
You turn your head, looking over at the empty space. “What would I even get?”
He’s mid-sip when you ask, but hums in acknowledgment. “Some seating, a little table, maybe a fire pit if you’re feeling extra crazy.”
You fight back a smile, “Oh? Thanks, asshole.”
“You might be a grandma, but I never said there’s nothing wrong with it.”
“I’m trying not to be, okay.” You give him the finger as you walk to the fridge, hoping he didn’t take the last seltzer. Seconds later you’re cracking one open yourself.
He chuckles at the little pout you get on your face when you’re offended. “I’m just fuckin’ with you— you’re fine.”
“I guess,” you murmur, leaving him in the kitchen to go take a seat on the couch.
He trails behind you, leaving enough space between the two of you as he takes a seat on the couch he nearly lost his mind trying to put together. The instructions were in a language so uncommon that most people go about their lives without knowing about it.
“What do you mean you guess?”
“I don’t know,” you murmur. “Kinda feel guilty for all the years I lost, I wish I could get them back.”
“I bet,” he leans back in his seat. “You ever considered making more time for yourself, now?”
“What do you mean?”
“Taking some time off. Could be a week, could be a couple months. You could even try working part time for a little. You have a savings, I’m sure you could get away with taking a break.”
“Oh— yeah, I have actually. The company has really good benefits, though. It’s kinda why I haven’t even tried to leave,” you turn towards him, leaning against the arm rest as you hug your knees. “I’ve been considering asking for a demotion, though.”
You’re not quite sure how Yaga would handle that. You’ve been coming up with different ideas all month— a hybrid schedule, switching to a 4 day work week, maybe leaving early some days, a demotion. You’re sure taking on another role would have its own difficulties, but it’d be easy to handle compared to all you do now. The workload you have really should be split between two people, maybe even three.
“That’d definitely be a lot less work,” he remarks, still shocked at all the shit he has you do.
“A lot less— I’m hoping Yaga agrees to one of them. If not, I might just find some place else. I could probably take a few months off then. Free time does sound nice.”
“Yeah you could sleep in, hang out with anyone who’s free, find a hobby, go on a date—“
His last suggestion gets shut down with a laugh. “Yeah, right.”
“What?” he smirks.
“I suck at dating,” you inform him. “I don’t even know how to anymore.”
He snorts. “That’s a little dramatic, no?”
“It’s true— last time I went on one was three years ago.”
He raises his brows, then flatly asks, “Three?”
“Don’t judge me,” you grumble.
“M’not. It’s just— 3 years of completely nothing?”
“God— obviously.” You hide your face in embarrassment. “You are judging me right now.”
“I’m not,” he laughs, taking another sip. “Just a long time to go without having someone take care of you.”
"Well I slept through most of it anyway so I'm fine,” you roll your eyes, annoyed at how he’d even make a joke like that when he knows you can support yourself just fine without anyone’s help.
“You’re awake right now, though.”
“So?” you scoff.
“I can take care of you, if you want,” he offers.
“Not funny,” you murmur, just about ready to kick his ass out.
At first, he’s confused as to why his little offer had you that offended. Then after a minute, it clicks. Since you refuse to look at him, you miss the amused grin on his face after realizing you two are thinking about two entirely separate things in terms of ‘being taken care of’.
You only finally look at him when he gets up from where he’s sitting and there’s a shit eating smirk on his face, making you think he’s just being a dick and leaving.
Then he takes a seat right next to you, leg just barely brushing against yours.
“What are you d—”
“I think you’re a little confused here,” he says a little too calmly, throwing his arm over the backrest and leaning in way too close.
“Listen, I looked forward to hanging up that painting of yours all day, same goes for all the other stuff I’ve helped you out with.” You feel your cheeks start to warm as a result of the low, honeyed tone he’s using on you. “I really like helping you. It makes you a little happier, and with all the assholes I have to deal with everyday, it makes my day a lot better. So, why not just let me do a little more?”
“I don’t— what are you even talking about right now?” Your words come out all nervous and jumbled, failing to stay calm from how close this guy is.
“I’m talking about all the times I’ve caught you looking at my dick print.”
Your eyes widen in horror and he laughs.
“Yeah, you’re not slick,” he tucks some hair behind your ear and leans in closer. “C’mon— you’re not even at work right now and your mind’s still all over the place trying to find stuff to be stressed about. Aren’t you tired?”
Your heart pounds against your chest as you hesitate to answer. “I mean— yeah.”
“Let me fuck you then,” he murmurs, tracing the backs of his fingers down your arm. “You won’t have to think about anything, won’t have to do anything— just gotta take it. Super easy. Sounds fun, huh?”
“I… I don’t know,” you just barely whisper, shifting in your seat from all the nerves, looking like a deer in headlights.
“I think you do know.” He continues to toy with you as he waits for you to say anything else. Surprise: you never do.
“I’ll stop if you tell me to.”
You look like you’re about to have a panic attack and it’s adorable. “Stop what?”
“This.” He smiles, pressing a soft kiss right under your ear, humming against your skin, not missing the way it makes your breath hitch. Then he presses another one on your jaw, then another, getting closer to your lips and pulling back right before he does, meeting your glazed over, half lidded eyes.
He snakes a hand around the back of your neck and pulls you in, making your lips meet his. The first kiss is slow and gentle, letting you warm up to it. You put your legs down trying to get closer, not expecting for it to grow more heated, too.
An arm wraps around your waist and you're being pulled in to straddle his lap. His big hands roam around your hips and ass as you start to full on make out, grinding you down against something long and hard until you’re desperately panting against each other.
He gives your ass one last squeeze before finding the bottom of your shirt and pulling it up over your head, rushing to unclip your bra and tossing it in whichever direction the shirt went. A soft gasp slips through your lips once you feel the wet heat of his pierced tongue drag a slow stripe over your nipple, not thinking much about the way Sukuna smiled at you afterwards.
You should’ve braced yourself for the level of greed you were about to experience.
Many minutes later, your tits are covered in spit and you’re failing to bite back moans out of self preservation.
And it’s fucking hard.
Sukuna’s groaning and dragging a heavy tongue over each nipple 1, 2, 3, 4 times before wrapping his lips around them and starts sucking. He goes back and forth between each, pulling away with a wet, lewd pop before moving on to the next. At first, he’d replace his mouth with his fingers— rubbing, rolling, and pinching on the sensitive bud so it’s not completely neglected while he works on the other one.
They’re now firmly planted on your hips, because apparently he needs the extra friction. So now your shorts are soaked through and you’re trying not to cum as he continues to push you down back and forth against his cock.
Your fingers are digging into his shoulders, the moans you’re struggling to bite back come out as whines and the one thing that actually pulls one out of you is when Sukuna’s palm cracks down on your ass.
“Come here.”
He pulls you in by the back of your neck and swallows all the little sounds you try not to make with a kiss messier than the last.
The air's hot and heavy once he breaks it. A small string of saliva hangs on and then breaks as you pull away, already looking like a mess while trying to catch your breath.
“Bed?”
“Yeah,” you nod, sounding more desperate.
“Thought so,” he stifles out a laugh as he suddenly gets up, easily taking you with him as he makes the short walk to your bedroom.
He sets you down on the mattress before pulling his shirt over his head. The buckle of his belt lightly clinks as he undoes it to take his pants off, leaving just his boxers on that leave little room for imagination. He leans forward, hooking his fingers over the waistband of your soaked fucking shorts, taking them off along with your panties in one go.
You don’t even get the opportunity to be shy around Sukuna because he's immediately grabbing the backs of your thighs and letting out a low whistle while pulling them apart to get a good look at how wet you already are.
“Shit— look at you,” he groans.
Without warning, he dips his head down in between your thighs, and he licks a long, fat stripe up your slit, not missing the extra friction from the metal ball on his tongue. There’s a shit eating smirk on his face when his head comes up, teasing you as he pushes you back further up the bed to make more room for himself.
“Told you this was fun.”
“Shut up.” You giggle as you watch him get settled back in between your thighs, only for it to die out once he dips his head back down.
He draws a long sigh out of you once he starts to slowly lap at your sensitive clit. He goes at an unhurried pace, just barely using any pressure and you’re sure he’s just doing it to fuck with you. With the way you are right now, the lazily licks are fucking torture, making you squirm around while you clench around nothing.
The more you move, the tighter his grip around the back of your thighs gets, until you find yourself pinned in place as he finally starts to pick up the pace, adding more pressure until that metal ball starts swiping across your clit like you need it to. You focus on it, until it gets ripped away once you finally feel his tongue press flat against your hole and begins dragging heavy stripes up to your clit.
Your breathing grows sharp and uneven, hand moving down to his head, locking strands of hair in between your fingers as drawn out moans start spilling past your lips. He goes from pressing his tongue against your entrance to pushing past it, dipping further and further until deciding to just stay there and fuck you with it.
The shallow thrusts have you squeezing and clenching, back arching off the bed, desperate for more. You nearly let out a pathetic cry when he pulls away, but then he fills the empty space right back up with not one, but two of his fingers. They’re long and thick, and he’s curling them in. The pads of his fingers rub right up against that spot inside that has you seeing stars.
Through half-lidded eyes, you watch as he starts to pump them in and out faster, until a light squelch can be heard. “Oh fuuuck.”
“You like my fingers?” he asks with a low, amused hum.
You nod. “Feels so good— oh my god.”
“I bet— look at how fuckin’ soaked they are from you.” He pulls them all the way out for you to see, then stuffs them back in. He starts curling faster, thumb pressing your clit and rubbing little circles until you’re clenching and whining. “Yeahh— that’s it, show me how good that feels.”
He keeps hitting your sweet spot until something in you shifts, making you close your legs out of instinct, only for him to keep them open so he can keep going.
“Oh my god— fuck— wait!” you cry out.
“What’s wrong, baby? Gonna cum?” Instead of letting up, he goes faster, letting the room continue to fill up with the filthy sounds of his fingers scissoring into your cunt, pushing you over the edge until you give him what he wants.
And he gets it quick. You let out a sharp cry as you gush around him, finally cumming after holding it in from earlier.
“Fuuck yeah, there you go,” he rasps, fingers slowing down as he works you through it.
He waits for you to catch your breath before leaning forward and kissing you a couple times, humming with each one.
“Tired or you wanna keep goin’?” he asks.
You’re still trying to catch your breath as you answer. “Yeah, keep going.”
“Atta girl.”
He pushes himself off the bed to take the boxers off and your eyes widen at his cock that’s bigger than you originally thought it’d be. It springs out of his boxers with multiple piercings and precum smeared all over his darkened red tip.
And of course, you stare for longer than you should.
“You alright?” he asks, sounding cocky as hell, and actually having the right to be.
Taking your eyes off feels impossible— 3 rows of barbells on the underside of his shaft right below his tip, and another one on the underside of his tip. It almost feels wrong, he’s already long and thick.
“Yeah— I just— holy shit.”
“I know.” He says with full confidence as he gets back on the bed and situating himself in between your legs. “Gonna be fun watching you take it.”
He grabs the backs of your knees and spreads your legs further apart, getting a better look at how wet you still are, fighting back a smile knowing it’s from him.
He gives his cock a couple pumps, then looks at you, not sure whether you’re excited or nervous. “You ready?”
You look at him, then back down to the absolute monster he has in his hand, then back up at him.
“Mhm.”
He stares at you for a few seconds, then casually shrugs. “Alright.”
You’ll get used to it.
He runs the head of his cock through your slick folds, tapping it over your clit a couple times, making you a bit more nervous after feeling the cold metal ball from his piercing nudging at your entrance.
He pushes in, and you both have the same reaction to how easy it slides in despite how tight of a fit it was. You take in a sharp breath as he starts to sink in, inch by inch, with no resistance, all while feeling an immediate stretch and the added friction from each piercing.
Once he’s halfway through, he slowly starts to rock his hips back and forth and you find yourself having to bite back on a moan, realizing those piercings were also rubbing back and forth against your walls.
“You doin’ okay?” he raises a brow, clearly enjoying the sight.
“You’re so fucking big,” it almost sounds like a complaint.
“I am,” he hums, leaning down and caging you in with his arms. “I’m gonna push the rest in.”
“How much is there left?”
“You’ll be fine.”
He thrusts right in and you're letting out a shattered gasp. At the same time, he’s humming in satisfaction since he got to watch the whole thing.
“Fuckin’ tight,” he murmurs, giving you a moment to get used to how stuffed you are, stealing a few kisses while he’s at it since he’s not entirely an asshole. “Remember what I said, all you gotta do is take it.”
You don’t get a chance to respond before he’s pulling out all the way and sliding back in, working up a pace as he stuffs you over and over again, dragging those small metal balls right over the spot that made your toes curl.
It still took you a little bit of time getting used to him though, all words dying at your throat once he started to actually fuck you like it was nothing. Feeling betrayed by your body for letting him stretch you so easily like this.
Each drive of his cock has you moaning and gasping, making you cover your mouth trying to hold them in— something he did not like since he pushed your hand away.
Then without warning, he shoves two fingers in your mouth.
“Mmmh— you look good with my fingers shoved in your mouth like this. Now suck.”
You do as he says, swirling your tongue around his digit a few times before he presses them down it, making you softly moan as you sucked on them. He pulls them out with a wet pop and starts muttering in your ear.
“Don’t cover that pretty little mouth again, alright?”
Thrust.
“Fuck— okay,” you whine back.
“Good girl.” He gives you another rough thrust, pulling another choked noise out of you. “Don’t try to hold out on me thinkin’ snot and tears are gonna turn me off, cry on it if you have to. I like it ugly.”
At first you wanted to cry from how fucking mean that was, only to realize that urge to cry may have just been from that one spot he wouldn’t stop hitting, which eventually stopped being overwhelming once you finally get used to him.
“See? That wasn’t so bad now, was it?” he asks, though it was more of a condescending remark rather than a question. “Bet this feels good now, huh?”
“It’s been a while,” you say in an attempt to defend yourself.
“Yeah, no kidding— pussy’s fuckin’ tight,” he says all smug, getting harder at just the thought. “Feels good like this.”
He brings your legs together and throws them over his broad shoulders. Moans start to spill out of your mouth the moment he starts hitting at an angle that manages to hit your clit too. His hips crack against your ass as he picks up the pace, slick spreading past your thighs as he pounds down deeper, bed steadily rocking from all the force behind each thrust.
“Shit— look at how much of a mess you made,” he groans once the wet squelch between you becomes unavoidably louder. “Did you squirt or somethin’? You’re fuckin’ soaked.”
“No. I don’t— nghh— who cares, just keep going.”
He looks at you in amusement, keeping the same pace as he pushes further back against your legs to go deeper, making you nearly squeal. “Is this what’s got you lying about squirting?”
“I didn’t squirt,” you say with an airy laugh. “Fuuck— just feels good.”
“Right,” he mutters slowly as he pushes back against you even more, slowing down until he’s just grinding against you. “What about this?”
It’s a full blown mating press at this point.
“Mhm— yeahh.” Your lips curl into a small smile. “Better, actually.”
“Good,” he hums.
He leans down to press his lips against yours while slowly picking up the pace again, soaking up all the sighs and soft moans he pulls out of you from the deep strokes of his cock, letting the base of it rub against your clit while his tip mushes against that special little spot inside.
The slow, lazy kisses go on for as long as they can, and for you, it’s when your teeth threaten to clash against each other each time his hips snap against you. By then, Sukuna’s going harder. He pulls all the way back, then drives back in— the force behind each thrust growing greater than the last.
“F-fuck— Kuna, that’s—”
“What? Too much?”
“No, no— keep going,” you damn near start pleading with him, feeling a little bit of pressure start build. “Don’t stop— please, I think I’m gonna—“
Your cunt stretches helplessly around him, feeling every inch and vein he stuffs into you over and over again as he fucks you with reckless abandon. The sight’s nothing but obscene as he fills the room with the sounds of him pounding you senseless.
“What’s wrong, baby?” he asks, honeyed and condescending. “Can’t take it?”
“I don’t– fuck– I don’t know.” Your words are cut off by sharp sudden gasps, feeling something unfamiliar build up. It’s not until he gives you one particularly rough thrust when tears start streaming down your cheeks.
“You poor thing.” If you hadn’t known any better, he sounded quite pleased with himself. He leans down to lick a fresh tear streaming down your cheek before going back to business. “Look at you, getting fucked so good that it’s making you cry. You’re probably close, aren’t ya?”
You take in a sharp breath, wondering how bad it would be if you did. You already thought you came. Instead, Sukuna’s right and he’s letting one of your legs back down, leaning in close and cradling your head while he continues to absolutely ruin you.
“Cum for me,” he murmurs. His fingers trail down to your clit and starts rubbing over it with just the perfect amount of pressure, making clenching like fucking crazy. “Thaaat’s it— c’mon. Give it to me.”
He drags his heavy cock all the way out with a wet schlick, then slams back in— again and again and again— pushing you over the edge until your nails are digging into his back and you’re breaking out into a cry.
You’re gushing around his cock and he keeps drilling into you like he’s trying to work as much as he can out of you— just powering through it. This is the hardest you’ve ever cum in your life, you’re fucking sobbing and he’s just encouraging it with the way he licks a stripe up your cheek, groaning about how fucking hot you look crying on his cock.
“Oh my g-god— I-I can’t— ffuck it’s too much—” your nails start to claw down his back as he drives you into overstimulation.
“I know— I’m so fuckin’ close,” he husks out, and you can tell he’s not entirely all here anymore. “Shhiittt almost there— keep squeezing me like that, baby— yeahh just like that,” his hips desperately slam into you, deep groans start to rumble out of his chest as he chases his own relief. “Fuck— ffuuck.”
He lets out the most drawn out guttural groan once it hits him. He slams in, burying his cock deep inside of you and flooding your walls with so much cum that it starts to spill out while he grinds every last drop of it out.
He pulls out but keeps you caged in underneath you, pressing lazy kisses against your lips with short uneven breaths in between, skin damp and glistening from sweat. It takes a moment to come back to reality, and for someone that doesn’t even know where to start, you’re surprisingly comfortable with the silence between you.
It eventually ends, though. You’re the first to break it.
“Did you still want me to go out on those dates you were talking about?”
Immediately he lets out a breathy laugh. “If you don’t mind me trying to fight them, then sure.”
. . . . . .
Six Months Later
You walk step inside Sukuna’s office, giddier than usual with the small pink cake you bought after handing in your resignation letter to Yaga. His feet are kicked up on the cherry oak wood desk and you doubt he’s doing anything work related. But he’s the boss, who’s going to yell at him? He does sit up straight once he sees you, though, ready to hear the news.
Unfortunately, he doesn’t get to hear it right away since you just had to look at the wall shelves and catch sight of something that wiped the smile off your face.
“Why is Yuji’s face crossed off in that photo?”
He rolls his eyes, “don’t worry, it’s whiteboard marker.”
“But why would you do that?” you continue to interrogate Sukuna, because unlucky for him, you two are the best of friends now.
Jin visited him earlier today and brought Yuji along. He started off the visit strong by pointing to Sukuna and asking his father ‘Does Uncle have a reezding hairline, too?’ and eventually took a look at the protein snacks he had in the corner, which made him look Sukuna up and down, and go “you eat too much.”
Sukuna rubs his temple as he grows annoyed again. “He called me fat and bald, so I told him we weren’t family anymore and crossed his face out to prove it.”
Despite the words that come out of Yuji’s mouth, the kid loves him in all of his grumpiness.
“So you made him cry?”
Yuji cried so hard that started dry heaving and nearly threw up. “No,” he grimaces. “He just pouted and said sorry.”
You look at him rather suspiciously as you grab a couple forks from his little snack station in the corner, but let it go this time.
He takes your silence as an opportunity to change the subject completely. “How’d your boss take the news?”
“Oh my god, he was distraught,” you reveal, still surprised over how panicked he looked when you turned in your resignation letter.
He waves a dismissive hand, believing it’s the least he deserved for not trying to meet you halfway when trying to cut some of your hours down and refusing to demote you.
“You’ll forget all about it after sleeping in tomorrow,” he reassures you before taking his first bite of cake.
“Yeah— I,” you give a nervous laugh, “okay, so about that.”
He stops chewing and just stares at you.
“I’m gonna stay with them.”
“What?” he almost snaps. “We’re going on vacation in a few weeks. I— what the fuck? What did you get a fuckin’ cake for then?!”
“We’re still going! He’s giving me that time off.”
“How charitable of him.” He snorts out a bitter laugh, then goes back to be mad. “I thought you hated that fuckin’ place?!”
“I did! But he offered to shorten my hours and said I could work from home.”
That piece of information does nothing for Sukuna, who is grumbling profanities under his breath, acting like he’s the one being forced to stay there. His words start going in one ear and out the other after telling yourself he’ll get it eventually, and take a bite out of the victory cake since you also got a small raise, despite the decrease in hours.
“Are you listening?”
“What?” you look up and ask, still chewing on the food.
“Tch– nothing.” Sukuna takes his aggression out on the cake by stabbing the damn thing when getting more. “He shoulda’ given you all that before you tried to quit if you were that important. Hell— he shouldn’t have dumped all that work on you in the first place.”
“He’s a greedy old man that’s hungry for money,” you remind him. “What else would you expect from him?”
Sukuna’s delusional and does this thing where he just assumes the world sees you the same way he does, and then when it doesn’t, he gets offended. Last week at the grocery store, someone reached for the produce in front of you and he snapped at them for not saying excuse me. Then he snapped at them again for not having any patience, given how you would’ve eventually moved.
“Whatever,” he gets up from his seat to grab a water from the mini-fridge and takes a sip, but before sitting back down, he stops next to you and gets at eye level. “If Mr. Crabs calls you while we’re gone, I’m ripping that phone out of your hand and cussing him the fuck out, you hear me?”
You suppress a laugh. “Loud and clear.”
“Good,” he says, stealing a quick kiss from you. “Proud of you.”
The sincerity in his tone pulls a smile out of you. “Thanks.”
He glances at the door, notices it’s locked, then places a hand on your thigh when the sudden realization that there was no one that could fire him hits him.
He gives it a squeeze. You already know what he’s thinking.
okay this is cute and sexy and all loove the dynamic with sukuna its so UGH — but the little subplot of baby yuji with his grumly unkakuna is so cute him being a little thorn in his side with how much he rage baits him is so GENUINELY CUTE LIKE 😫😫😫
omfg rielle is so cute!!! and minajeel hes so hot wth -- they both look so good twst better update the nrc sprites cus compared to the rsa sprites we just have another bad case of pulling a diluc with outdated sprites
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⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ sharing a cigarette with coworker deku sensei after work⋆｡˚✴︎⋆
1.5k wc
٠࣪⭑ cw: izuku sensei x coworker!reader, outside a bar, smoking, cigarettes, reader and izuku both smoke
٠࣪⭑ author's note: just my self insert fantasy. i'm gonna do a weed one too LOL
"do you smoke?"
the night air is crisp and dry. not too cold, but the tips of your fingers and nose are starting to feel it. every now and again, a breeze rustles the leaves of the trees that line the street. this and the chatter pouring out of the bar behind you serve as a muted soundtrack to your evening.
somewhere a horn sounds. a sharp peal of laughter from across the street. heavy bass from the club three doors down.
and in front of you, hunched against the wind as he tries to light a cigarette, izuku flicks his lighter. it's practically swallowed by his fingers, thick and long as they curl around it. he tries to light it again, to no avail.
"here," you say, reaching out your hand to block the wind. he gives you a grateful smile and flicks the lighter again; the flame blooms into the night air and the end of the cigarette catches. as he inhales, the end of the cigarette burns. smoke furls around his face. you move your hand.
"not usually." his eyes widen when he realizes you're answering his earlier question.
"oh, i'm sorry! i can move over there–"
"i said not usually," you interject, grabbing his sleeve before he tries to leave again. "besides, you can smoke, it's fine."
he looks a little sheepish. still, he takes another drag from the cigarette, letting the smoke fill his lungs before he exhales with a little sigh, aiming away from your face. "i know it's a bad habit."
standing there in his white shirt with the sleeves rolled up, you wonder if he's cold. when he shifts his hand to drag the cig, the network of scars lining his skin catch in the light of the streetlamp and the neon of the bar signs. he looks sexy like this – the subtly guilty look on his face is doing something to you.
"you don't really seem like the type..."–hesitantly–"i wouldn't... i probably wouldn't have you pegged for a smoker, if you'd asked me."
"oh! i'm not a smoker," he says confidently. then takes another hit. "just someone who smokes sometimes."
"ahhh, so we're splitting hairs, then?"
he laughs, a real one that shakes his shoulders and makes him cough at the end. "hmm..." he muses. "you've got me there, i guess. but i meant–well, i guess it really is splitting hairs–but i meant that i don't smoke first thing in the morning, or even every day. just sometimes after a long day. or when i'm out like this."
you crack a smile. "so even a goody-two shoes like you has a little edge, huh?"
you're teasing, baiting. it feels exciting, getting a glimpse into his inner world like this. izuku has always been a little hard to pin down. you think you know someone, and then you find out that on nights like tonight, they like to smoke cigarettes outside of dingy bars after work.
this feeling is addictive. you want to know more. what makes him tick?watching the blush creep up his neck at your words is more satisfying than you thought it would be.
what else could you say to fluster him? probably anything – if there's one thing you know about izuku, it's that he flusters easily.
"oh, i don't know about edge..." he laughs nervously. before, the cigarette looked so natural between his fingers, but now he holds it like it might explode. you get the feeling he isn't used to being analyzed like this, more used to the inverse.
"mm, i don't know!" you sing. "there's more to izuku midoriya than meets the eye, huh?"
"of course there is."
he sounds older when he says it, like someone who's lived several lifetimes. he drags the cigarette. then cracks a smile.
"don't–ah–would you mind keeping it between us? it's not a big deal or anything, but i think that aizawa–"
you lean your shoulder against the wall of the bar and pat his chest. "your secret is safe with me, midoriya."
"um, thank yo–"
"can i have a hit?"
he eyes you carefully. "i thought you said you didn't smoke?" the comment earns him an eye roll.
"i said usually. but hey"–you pluck the cigarette from between his fingers and hold it to your mouth–"when in rome, right?"
"well, you shouldn't just because..." he trails off, watching closely as you put the cigarette between your lips and take a small hit. your eyes are locked on his. when you exhale, it's in his direction with a smirk. he shakes his head a little in amusement, but doesn't wave the cloud away.
he looks pretty through the smoke. the light's filtered through the haze and it washes his features in a pleasant glow. you feel so good when he looks at you.
you're a little dizzy, but the good kind. hard to tell if it's because of the nicotine or because of him. the cigarette dangles haphazardly between your fingers and you gaze at it for a second before handing it over.
"thanks."
"sure..." he murmurs, leaning against the wall to mimic your posture. he's close. really close. is that on purpose, or did he misjudge where on the wall he should lean?
down the street, an argument breaks out into the evening, but it sounds far enough away to be harmless enough. he still turns his head to check the scene, but he doesn't pull away from the wall, and when he registers it's nothing he looks right back at your face. you're not so chilled now that he's in your space. there's an invisible shield between you and the rest of the world – behind it you two are hidden from perception. everyone who walks by ignores you, and you ignore them.
"so..." he starts, teasing. "you've got a little edge too, then?"
"haha, very funny."
"i am funny sometimes!"
even though you're grinning, you say, "i'll believe it when i see it."
the cigarette burns in his hand, half forgotten between you. his knee nudges against yours, and you let it. someone changes the music inside the bar to an old jazz song, and it floods the air. another addition to the soundtrack of this moment. the music warms you up even further. the chill in the air has been forgotten now, and the street seems to be washed in a dreamy glow.
"you're funny," he says. and after a beat, "and pretty."
your head tips against the wall. he's still staring, swallowing hard when your lips curve into your most winning, genuine smile. you sure know how to tug at izuku's heartstrings. he's close enough now that you can see the separation between his eyelashes and count the freckles on his cheeks.
something so sexy about a man who shrinks down to look you in the eye.
he makes the kind of eye contact that seems to strip you down, not just sexually, but intimately. when he stares at you like this it makes your mouth dry. almost too much, but you can't look away.
he drags the cigarette again. then his eyes flick to your lips again. "do you, uh... do you want another hit? before i put it out."
"yeah." you make absolutely no move to reach for the cigarette, instead crossing your arms over your chest.
"okay..."
his next move is slow, methodical, but solid. like he's already thought about it and is finally giving in to the desire. one of his hands comes up to steady your face, grasping at your jaw so gently. the other brings the cigarette up to your lips. he briefly brushes his thumb over them before holding the cigarette in a position that allows you to lean forward ever so slightly and suck in the last hit. it's burned down significantly, giving him little room to hold it. your pout brushes against his fingers again when you wrap your lips around the end. and still he stares. and still you stare back.
finally, he breaks the the silence. "good?" you nod and he pulls the hand with the cigarette back, puts it out by pinching the cherry off the end. he slips the butt into his pocket, to be thrown away inside. the hand on your jaw stays firmly in it's place. he swallows thickly again.
"can i kiss you?"
you press into him now, hands coming up to clasp around his neck. the hand that held the cigarette finds your waist instantly.
"i'm afraid i'll taste like cigarettes," you whisper, a surreptitious edge to your tone. you play with a strand of hair at the base of his neck and nudge his nose with your own.
"that's okay," he whispers back. you can smell the smoke on his breath, and the scent of his shampoo and the musk of the day. your lips are less than a breath away, so close you can practically taste him already. "so will i."
fuck this shit having a roomate sucks like why is her hair everywhere like the sink and toilet seat girl what?? and the BO LIKE DAMN DO YOU NOT TAKE SHOWERS THE DAMN AC IS AT YOUR SIDE SO IF IM GOING IN OUR ROOM THE AC IS LITERALLY BLOWING UR STANK IN MY FACE LIKE DAMN — SO FOCUSED ON YOUR HAIR IN THE MORNING THAT YOU STINK AF NO WONDER THE GUY YOU LIKE DOESNT LIKE YOU BACK FUCK
like teeh kabalo ko nga wakoy buot atong shs pero ka damak sad nimo oi yawa di pa lang maka limpyo sa iyang sarili unya pa kikay2 pa dira nga baho ug way ligo pa lang gani ka yawa na unsa ka oi damak way ligo way buot nga bata boshit oi boshit (im just saying how unhygenic and disgusting she is and how much she puts so MUCH effort in her appearance when SHES ABSOLUTELY DISGUSTING AND STINKY AF FUCK)
